Strangers Among Us
by JKatrin
Summary: A Crossover between VelgarthValdemar and the Exalted universes. A Night caste Exalt and his wife find themselves strangers in a strange land. Rated teen for violence.
1. Chapter 1

**Strangers Among Us**

_A/N: First, a word of explaination. This is a crossover fic, between Velgarth/Valdemar and the Exalted game setting. I have to tried to keep in mind that not everyone is familiar with both settings as I wrote._

_Now, the standard disclaimer. I do not own either Valdemar or its characters, I just visit now and then thanks to Mercedes Lackey. All Exalted references and settings belong to White Wolf Publishing. Justin Nightbringer is Dave Barrett's creation, as Shiarra and Katriana are mine. _

**Valdemar**

Karal sat cross-legged on his cushion in the garden, praying. His heart was heavy and sore, and he had finally turned, as he had been taught all of his life, to Vkandis for comfort. He didn't pray for answers so much as he prayed to _see _the answers that were surely there already.

_We have suffered so much, already_, he thought. _Karse, Valdemar, Hardorn. We are afraid, Lord, and this time we have no clues, no idea of where in the world to look for answers._

:_**And so you must look out of this world**_.

The thin autumn sunshine that bathed him grew suddenly warmer, and despite his worry Karal smiled, and turned his face up into the warmth.

"Lord," he whispered. "You have seen our need. Mages, Heralds, Artificers—all have failed to find even a cause for our troubles, much less a solution. And so we priests must now ask for guidance, for we are all at a loss."

The warmth multiplied, and the light grew. Suddenly Karal was standing surrounded by the Light. He did not wonder to find himself here; he had been here before, though not so often that he was anything but honored.

:_**We have heard your plea, Karal—yours and all others**_.

Karal started and turned—that voice was certainly one he had never heard in Sunheart before! Before him he beheld a woman, dressed head to foot in black silks, a strange shadow on the unblemished radiance of this Place. Her voice was a sorrowful symphony, and her eyes in her beautiful face were black, without pupil or iris, but holding a sprinkling of stars, as if they were windows onto the eternal night sky.

"Lady…" Karal's voice was reverent, and he bowed respectfully. "Kal'enal."

:_**We have come**_, said the Star-Eyed:_**because you will not find the answers you seek anywhere in**_**this **_**world**_

Karal frowned. "Is this evil some demon from the Abyssal planes, then?" he guessed. "Or—"

:_**No**_. That was the solemn voice of Vkandis, as much in his head and heart as in his ears. :_**Not merely another plane, another world**__**. One with its own laws, its own people, its own gods. Less kin to this, your home, as you are to a lizard, yet as alike as one grain of sand to another**_.

Karal sucked in a quick, nervous breath. (Never mind that it wasn't strictly necessary, here; sometimes, you just needed a good deep breath.) "Then, what can we do?"

:_**Because you have asked, and because this is need, we can intervene**_, the Lady told him. :_**We will arrange for help to arrive. However, it will be up to you to persuade him**_.

Karal bowed again, both grateful and fearful. "Thank you both," he said fervently. "We shall do our best to justify Your faith in us."

Their voices were mingled in his ears as the radiance dimmed and Karal found himself back in the garden, in his familiar darkness.

:_**We know you shall…**_

**The Forest Refuge**

Justin reclined on the grass outside of his manse, watching the women he loved. One was a tall redhead, with exotic copper skin and a lush figure. The other was a slender dark haired creature of subtle curves and extraordinary grace. Three children played boisterously around them, swarming over the women and making enough noise for six.

"Enough, enough!" the dark one called. "I surrender!" As the pale-haired girl who had "captured" her squealed in victory, she extracted herself from the cage of arms and began strolling leisurely over the verdant lawn toward her husband.

"Had enough?" Justin asked lazily.

"For now." Katriana lowered herself onto the grass next to him and laid a hand over her round belly. "The little one keeps shoving his toes into my ribs."

Justin laid his hand over hers, and was immediately rewarded with a swift kick. "I'm glad," was all he said.

She knew what he meant. "I know." And she leaned in to kiss him.

Only to have the moment spoiled when Kazhir and Dunuzial pounced on them from both sides, shrieking with childish glee.

Later, when the children had been left in the care of Verging Thicket, the manse's guardian spirit, Shiarra laid her own hand on Kat's belly and whispered a simple charm. Justin waited impatiently while his sister assessed his wife's condition.

"Well?" he asked when she opened her eyes again.

Shiarra smiled at her brother. "She is fine. The baby is fine." She gently touched the back of his hand before turning back to Kat. "Simple foods, plenty of rest, and whatever exercise you feel you can manage."

"How much longer?" Kat asked plaintively.

Shiarra laughed. "Babies come when _they_ are ready, trust me," she said. "But I'd say that you should be a mother by Ascending Fire."

"Two more months." Kat sighed. "I still don't understand why it has to take a year—" She broke off as something seemed to ripple through the air around them. All three of them felt the sudden change in the manse—but none of them could identify it.

Shiarra stood, and the golden half-circle on her forehead began to glow as she invoked the All-Encompassing Sorcerer's Sight. Justin and Kat rose from the living moss that cradled them, as Verging Thicket materialized in their midst.

"**Master**," the spirit rustled, "**there is a disturbance**."

"Show me," Justin said coldly.

Verging Thicket led them to the hedge-wall that surrounded the manse's Hearthstone chamber, the center of the manse's power. Shiarra hissed as her enchanted sight revealed the arcs of Essence that were anchored to the chamber doorway.

"Don't touch it," she said absently, moving a little closer to examine the phenomenon more closely.

"Wasn't planning to," Justin said tersely. Kat laid a hand on his arm.

"What is it?" she asked.

"It's…it's like the House of Doors…only temporary," Shiarra said. Cautiously, she reached through the magic that showed itself to her as a startling rainbow shimmer. The Essence reacted, swirling around her hand—almost angrily, she thought.

"It's keyed," she realized, and turned to Justin. "It's keyed to you."

Justin raised an eyebrow. "A portal, like the House of Doors, keyed only to me, put here by who-knows-what-sorcerer, that leads who-knows-where?" He snorted. "I hope no one expects me to just step through."

The women smiled. "No one who knows you, certainly," Shiarra said. She turned back toward the eerie portal, and saw that the edges seemed to be unraveling. "I don't think it will last much longer," she said.

Kat stepped around Justin with her head cocked curiously. She could feel the change in the manse's energies, but unlike Shiarra she had no particular ability to see Essence. "How much longer?"

"I don't—no!" Shiarra Saw the energies of portal react as Kat came near. She tried to interpose herself between them and the other woman, but the coruscating Essence ignored her completely, wrapping around Kat and pulling her into the archway. There was a sizzle like lightning and the stench of cordite, and Justin and Shiarra caught a brief glimpse of a forest beyond the arch, a forest decked in the colors of autumn rather then the green of high summer.

"I though you said it was keyed to me!" Justin glared at his sister, automatically shifting into a fighting stance.

"It is!" she cried. "But…the baby," she realized. "It's your baby, so the magic assumed—"

Before she could finish, Justin leaped past her and through the portal. Again, the crack and sizzle, and as she blinked her eyes clear she Saw the portal's Essence unravel itself, leaving her alone in the Forest Refuge.

**Arrival**

It was like stepping off of a cliff—a disorienting fall through blackness laced with brilliant bolts of Essence. Those bright ribbons grabbed him and hurled him through the Void for an eternal instant before depositing him in a pile of red and gold leaves. Justin staggered in spite of himself, retching as his stomach protested the violent journey. But in a moment the sickness passed, and he looked around frantically for his wife.

He didn't have to look far. She sat propped against a nearby tree, her fair skin pale as milk. From the looks of it, she had lost her battle with her stomach on arriving. Justin hurried over to where she sat, his worry easing only slightly when her eyes fluttered open.

"Justin…"she murmured. Then her strength seemed to return and she sat up and frowned. "What happened? Where in Creation are we?"

"It was a trap," he replied tightly, shaking now with fury. "Someone set a trap for me, and it caught you. Or the baby…Shiarra said that the magic couldn't tell the difference."

Nodding to show she understood, Katriana struggled to her feet, wrapping an arm around her awkward heavy belly. Grimacing, she used her foot to shove leaves over the evidence of her sickness, then cocked her head to examine the area of their arrival.

This forest was old, with a cathedral-like stillness about it that Justin had come to associate with places of power. But any power here was sleeping in the twilight stillness, quiescent; the trees themselves seemed to drowse beneath their colorful autumn coats. As the pair took a tentative step forward, Justin realized that it was also beautiful. And though it lacked the amenities of the Forest Refuge, he felt welcomed by this place.

Until suddenly all of his senses shouted "DANGER!" His hands automatically came up defensively as he turned and beheld a creature stepping out of the trees. It was at least nine feet tall, and it walked like a man, but it had four arms and a head with a bestial snout. It sniffed the air, and growled, showing mouth full of strong pointed teeth.

Justin automatically shifted to put himself between it and Kat. It circled the pair slowly, and Justin realized that the joining of its legs had only smooth skin. There was no sign of any genitals, nor any sign of a navel on its bare belly. That was significant, somehow, but he couldn't quite figure out how before the thing roared and charged.

There was a flurry of silk and a sparkle of essence beside him as Kat leaped into the nearest tree. Justin stood his ground, waiting until the last possible moment before spinning out of the way and aiming a deadly punch at the thing's kidneys.

It was like striking a lump of clay. The creature ignored him entirely, slamming its body into the tree where Kat had taken refuge. The tree shook under the impact; Kat gasped and clutched at the branches. As the creature raised its arms to strike again, Justin flung himself at its back, his fingers hardened by essence, capable of punching through armor.

His hands sank deep into its spine, and it roared in rage, but there was no blood as Justin pulled his hands out of the wound. He barely managed to avoid its retaliatory strike, rolling to the side as it attempted to grab him with its oversized claws. The gaping hole in its back seemed not to affect it as it reached up and ripped a branch off of the tree where Kat sat.

Now armed, it flung itself at Justin, swinging its improvised club. It was fast, much faster than it should have been. _It's some sort of construct,_ thought Justin, evading another swing of the club,_ a magic-made thing_. There were ways of dealing with those—but Justin didn't know them, and he had the vague idea that the methods were different for every type of construct. But he did know that they were not vulnerable to ordinary wounds—you could not sever an artery, or hamstring it, or cripple it with strikes to its pressure points.

_Well, then…I guess I'll have to do it the hard way_…

He channeled more essence through his body, making himself faster and stronger. With the preternatural alertness granted him by his charms, he was aware of Kat flipping out a pair of paper fans. The deadly little toys hung in the air, spinning and flirting like leaves on the wind as Justin avoided yet another blow, sliding like a shadow over the ground. He came up beneath the creature's reach and hammered at its body, then ducked and rolled again.

Katriana's fans darted forward, slicing at the beast's throat. It gagged, but the wound still refused to bleed, and the beast leaped at the tree, reaching for the woman with two of its clawed hands and swinging the branch with the others. Kat scrambled out of its reach, hampered by the branches that tangled in her skirts, as Justin aimed a flurry of blows at its unprotected flank.

Its body seemed to crack or break under the stress of his punches, but the onslaught had left him open, and Justin found himself flying through the air as it swiped at him, knocking him into another tree. Justin picked himself up and shook the breath back into his lungs—

Just in time to see Kat's foot slip on the branch she was standing on—

And the beast grabbing her, dropping its club to hold her with its upper pair of arms as it raked her body with its lower pair of claws.

Cold settled over Justin then, the cold determination that made a lie of all emotion. There was no love in him, no hate, and no fear. There was only a target, and the certain knowledge that it. Would. Die.

He burned essence recklessly, the indigo shadows of his anima wrapping around his body, hiding his movements from the creature as the image of a ghostly white cobra rose thirty feet into the air and spread its hood over the burning darkness. The creature dropped Kat like a doll, turning to face this new threat—and Justin hit it with fists hardened by essence, again and again. It tried to retaliate, but the cloak of his anima hid his movements from its eyes, and he danced around it, striking high, then low, first on one side and then another.

Again, Justin felt something yield when he struck. Cracks began appearing through its body as he drove his fists into its dun-colored hide. A lucky swipe sent the creature's claws across one arm, but he ignored it and pressed his attack.

He was slowly driving the beast across the clearing with the sheer force of his blows. It roared again and flailed about, but Justin avoided its wild swings and hit it in the center of its chest with his clasped fists—and suddenly, the creature broke apart and collapsed into a pile of clay and dust.

Ignoring the remains of his enemy, Justin hurried to where Kat lay, gently parting her kimono to check her wounds. They had already stopped bleeding—every Exalt could staunch the flow of their own blood with but a thought—and they seemed shallow as well. But as he helped her to sit up, she winced and laid a hand over her belly.

"Justin," she gasped. "I think the baby—"

He laid a hand over hers. "Will be fine," he said.

Her other hand reached up to clasp his arm. "Maybe so," she said, "but I think she's in a hurry."

His eyes flickered to her belly in time to see it ripple beneath his hand. "Are you sure?" he asked, alarmed.

"As sure as I can be," she said. Then she pointed. "I saw rooftops, when I was in the tree. Maybe we'll find help there."

"Or maybe they're responsible for us being here," he speculated.

Kat's jaw set as she levered herself from the ground. "Justin Nightbringer," she said fiercely, "I am not having this baby laying on the ground in a strange forest at night."

There was no fighting her. "All right, then." He offered her his shoulder to lean on. "Lead the way.

Dirk woke with his Companion's urgent summons. As his wife Talia sat up, blinking sleepily and running a hand through her tangled curls, Dirk heard an imperious knocking on the door of his family's home.

"Who…?" Talia wondered aloud.

"I don't know," said Dirk, "but Ahrodie says someone's hurt, and not to be alarmed."

"Why would she say that?"

The Heralds were already hurrying through the halls as the talked, where Dirk's mother met them with a lighted lantern. As the knock sounded again, she threw open the front door, then stepped back with a gasp of shock. Immediately Talia knew why the Companion had warned them.

The figure at the door was wrapped in swirling shadow. Indigo, pewter, and all of the subtle shades of midnight swirled around a vaguely defined core. Whoever was in those shadows was half-carrying a young woman whose long wrapped robe was stained with blood.

Dirk said to his mother, "Ahrodie says the woman is injured, and in labor."

That decided the matter. Handing her lantern to her son, Dirk's mother stepped forward and ushered the pair inside. Talia squinted against the baffling display, trying to get a better look at the figure inside, but was forced to abandon the effort when her eyes began to cross. Dirk raised his voice, calling for servants, and followed his mother down the hall to the large main room.

Justin allowed the woman with the long braid of iron-gray hair to lead him and his wife through the halls of the farmhouse. The lack of fear these people displayed was curious, but he was grateful for it. Kat was quickly settled on a couch near a large fireplace, where a sleepy-eyed girl was already blowing up the coals as another brought a kettle of water and hung it on the iron hook to heat. The woman in charge—and there was no doubt in Justin's mind that she ruled this steading—began to gently but efficiently strip Kat's clothing away from her, exclaiming over the raw wounds revealed. Just then, Kat cried out as another contraction seized her, and the woman's eyebrows rose. She turned and gave further orders, and suddenly Justin found himself pushed aside by the small army that trooped around the couch.

Before he could force his way back to Kat's side, he felt a hand on his arm and turned to face a small woman who looked like an oddly bleached-out version of Katriana. Her curly hair, still tangled from sleep, was a rich red-brown, and her hazel eyes dominated her sweet, heart-shaped face. Her voice was calm and soothing as she spoke, and though he couldn't understand the words, he allowed himself to be led to a chair on the other side of the fireplace.

"Is this your first child?" Talia asked as she handed him a cup of tea and perched on the hearth next to him.

The concealing shadows had already started to fade, and she could make out something of his face as he looked at her and accepted the tea, taking a cautious sniff before swallowing the scalding liquid and replying in a completely unfamiliar language. But though his words were incomprehensible, his worry was quite plain to the Herald, and she patted his hand, deliberately soothing him with her words backed up by her powerful empathy.

"It's all right," she told him. "You came to the right place. Dirk's mother is a Healer."

Justin didn't know why the woman's touch should sooth him—he was never quick to trust—but he found himself relaxing a bit as she continued to talk. He refused to look at his companion, keeping his attention focused on the couch where Kat lay surrounded by women. That did not keep him from being perfectly aware of the moment when the tall blond man who'd met them at the door joined them, crouching to put his head on a level with the woman's. There was some low conversation, which Justin ignored—he couldn't understand it anyway, and that was another puzzle. He was at least passing familiar with most of the languages in Creation. This was obviously a civilized land, not some degenerate barbarian tribe, so why were they not speaking one of the common civilized languages?

Talia and Dirk watched, fascinated, as the swirling shadowy display around their guest's body gradually unraveled, revealing a slender man of medium height, dark haired and dark eyed, dressed in a simple tunic and pants that could have come from virtually anywhere. He was still haloed by a ghostly gray glow, but now a golden radiance emanated from his forehead, bright enough to read by. Dirk's mother turned briefly at the exclamations of the servants, but brought their minds back to the task at hand with a few sharp words.

"Seems to be going well," Dirk commented to Talia.

"Mm," she agreed. "I wish we could tell_him_," she indicated their guest, who had yet to take his eyes from the Healer. "He's so worried—but he's also angry, underneath it, and I don't know why." The protocols drilled into Heralds kept her from probing further without good reason, but even without those protocols, she didn't think she'd get very far. "He's got shields the equal of any Herald," Talia said speculatively. "The only reason I'm getting anything at all is because he's feeling it so strongly."

"You're getting more than I am," Dirk admitted ruefully. "Of course, my best gift isn't Thought Sensing, but he's so closed off that if I wasn't actually looking at him, I wouldn't know he was there."

The woman in charge turned and beckoned imperiously to Justin, who rose to stand next to her as she made room for him at the head of the couch. His wife now lay swathed in a clean white sheet, and her indigo eyes were alert as she reached for his hand. He gave it, feeling the pain that she refused to voice in her grip. The woman tending her said something to Justin that sounded like a question; he could only shrug in reply.

Then the woman placed her hand over Justin's. Something touched him then, something cool and green that caressed that part of his soul where his Exaltation was seated. He felt that essence brush against his, and suddenly he knew what she was asking. Without thought, he opened up all of his reserves to her.

His essence flowed, not to the woman, but to Kat. Though her grip on his hand did not ease, the lines of pain left her face, leaving it serene as another contraction rippled beneath the sheet. One of the women at Kat's feet exclaimed excitedly; Justin found that he did not care. This was not the dispassionate cold of battle, but rather an all-encompassing peace that left no room for worry or fear. Somehow he _knew_, with a certainty he had not felt since he was a very small child that everything would be all right.

The woman removed her hand, and the feeling dissipated, though something of that peace still lingered. There was a flurry of activity at the foot of the couch, a sudden sharp squall, and suddenly a small squirming bundle was placed in his arms. Justin went ridged with shock, staring at the small wrinkled face that gaped up at him. It looked red and squashed and not very much like a person. But the eyes that stared into his were the same molten blue as Kat's, that incredible shade of the sky just after twilight and just before true night. As the baby's indignant howls subsided, Justin found his arms relaxing, cradling the child against his chest.

"Is it a boy or a girl?" Kat struggled to sit up as the bevy of attendants swarmed around her with clean towels and warm water.

Justin took a quick peek under the blanket. "A girl." He looked back at his wife. "How do you feel?" he asked softly.

"Tired." Her lips curved softly as he knelt beside the couch. "I feel like I could sleep for a week—no, you keep her," she added as Justin tried to hand her the baby. "I think…I'm so tired right now…I might drop her."

"You wouldn't," he murmured. "But I'll hold her."

He stood back a little as the women helped Kat sit up. Someone brought a fluffy dressing gown, and as they wrapped Kat in it, Justin stopped them with a sudden word. As they paused, he pulled aside the sheet and looked at Kat's side where the creature had raked her with its claws.

The skin there was smooth and unmarked. Justin looked at Kat in dumb surprise, and then at the woman in charge. She smiled serenely, nodding her head in response to his unasked question.


	2. Chapter 2

**Testing **

Talia and Dirk sat up the next night talking about his mother's strange guest.

"Is it just me, or is he spooky?" Dirk asked as he dropped his clothes on the floor.

Talia picked up the pile absently and threw them into the basket for the laundry maid to pick up in the morning. "He's spooky," she confirmed. "I can't count the number of times I've turned a corner today and found him just standing there. He's not snooping, he's just…watching. Like he's waiting for trouble, but I don't even know that much for certain." Frustration colored her voice as she ran a brush through her curls. "He's got the tightest shields of anyone I've ever met. Without my Empathy, and without speaking his language, I can't read him at all. The only thing I'm certain of—"

"—Is how he feels about his wife and daughter," Dirk finished.

Talia nodded. "That was plain enough when she was injured and in labor. But as soon as she was safe, the walls just slammed shut. I don't even think they're conscious, just the result of habit."

Dirk raised his eyebrows but didn't contradict. His wife was the strongest Empath in the Heraldic Circle; if she said something like that, it very likely had merit.

"Well," he said, yawning, "they've gone to bed. And so should we. And since I have _my_ very dear wife here beside me…"

Talia laughed softly as he reached for her, and extinguished the light.

Justin woke abruptly and lay rigid, trying to discern what small noise, what stirring of the air or unconscious impulse had woken him. Katriana slumbered peacefully beside him, even her Exalted constitution exhausted by the demands of a newborn. Justin helped as much as he could, but he just wasn't equipped to help feed his daughter, and was still learning to cope with napkins and baths and all of the thousands of tiny details that went into taking care of such a completely helpless creature. To be fair, so was Kat; her education had been that of a spy and courtesan. Neither one of them had ever had sibs to take care of; Justin's only experience with young children had come after Shiarra's twins were born. They were both still learning.

Sliding quietly out of bed, Justin walked with no more noise than a shadow to the cradle where Jessamin slept. The baby lay peacefully, with one tiny fist curled up near her mouth. That mouth made faint sucking noises as she dreamed, but that was not what had awakened him.

The door swung open under his hand; a reflexive use of essence silenced its creak. The farmhouse was quiet and dark, with only the light of the moon through the windows to illuminate his path. He heard the faint sounds of laughter from behind one door—Dirk and Talia, he thought, matching the voices to the names he'd learned earlier that day. From the sounds of it, they were sincerely attempting to give their one son—a bright, enthusiastic child with a remarkable lack of fear—a sibling. But it was not the sounds of their lovemaking that drew him down the hall.

Justin drifted through the house, ears straining to catch each faint snore, creak, or rustle, but he became more and more convinced that whatever had woken him was not in the house. He laid his palm on the cool leaded glass pane of a window, and looked out up at the sky.

The sky—Justin's breath caught in something like fear as he stared at the expanse of midnight over the fields. The moon was full and round as he was used to, but the stars….

The brilliant, ever-changing orbs that tracked the fate of men and gods….

Were stationary. They did not move with the currents of fate, did not trail filmy scarves across the sky as they slid from one constellation to another. Justin gripped the windowsill with numb fingers as he blinked at the array. How was this possible?

He turned away and squeezed his eyes shut. _I am even farther from home than I thought_.

It was a ridiculous conclusion. Completely mad. But it was the only thing that made sense. Savants and sorcerers had postulated for years about the existence of worlds outside their own Creation.

_No wonder these people aren't afraid of me. They don't know who I am. They don't know __**what**__ I am_.

_Someone went through a lot of trouble to get me here_.

That thought replaced his fear with anger. Not only had he been uprooted without warning, his wife and daughter had been pulled into this…situation…as well.

_I__**will**__ find out who did this_.

Four walls were suddenly too confining. Justin slipped the latch string on the front door and stepped outside, needing to breathe fresh air, even if it was under that disconcerting sky.

He took two steps across the packed bare earth of the yard. As his foot came down for the third step, a pearly gray mist rose around him. He paused warily, feeling essence humming across his skin as the brown earth beneath him was replaced with sand that gleamed with a faint silver radiance. The moon overhead seemed to shine even brighter through the mist, while the stars were obscured.

Between one breath and the next, they were there. Two in front and two behind, four lithe black-clad warriors with drawn weapons. Nothing could be seen of their faces except for their bright blue eyes above the black scarves or veils drawn across their faces. As one they bowed to Justin, and then they attacked.

They were all armed with paired swords, and Justin released essence through his limbs, his agile body becoming nearly liquid as he ducked beneath eight whirling circles of shining steel. He tumbled behind one and came up with a sweeping kick that sent his opponent sprawling, and followed through with a punch to the throat.

Three left. They spread out, too far apart to be attacked simultaneously, and Justin called on his essence again. Though he felt no change, he knew that to their eyes, his body would seem to waver hypnotically, confusing the eye and making it harder to strike true. They converged again, and Justin felt the edge of a blade catch his sleeve as he leaped into the air, delivering a kick to a veiled face, and using his foe's shoulders to vault to relative safety.

Two left. One hung back while the other attacked directly, blades spinning in shining deadly circles. But Justin had the pattern now, and though perhaps no mortal could have done it, his arms deflected both blades outwards, leaving the wielder open for a vicious kick that sent him staggering backwards. Before he could recover, Justin finished him with a knife-hand to the throat, and then tumbled out of the way as the final opponent attacked from behind.

Essence rippled over his body, hardening his skin, and the twin blades glanced off of his arm as he aimed a punch at his enemy's face. Bones crunched beneath his palm, and the body dropped to the sand—

And Justin leaped again as four black arrows buzzed through the air and buried themselves where he'd been standing.

The little "holdout" knives he kept up his sleeves zipped through the air and he heard two more bodies fall to the sand. As two more arrows crossed paths where he'd been standing, his arm blurred, and he snatched one out of the air and flung it back at his unseen attacker. There was a thud, and a hiss of pain—the first sound he had heard any of them make—as Justin scooped up the pair of swords dropped by the last swordsman. They felt heavy and awkward in his hands, but he flung them like chakram, one in each direction, and was rewarded with another pair of corpses.

But twelve more stepped silently out of the mist. Some were armed with a sword, or two; others carried staves, or long knives, or heavy flanged maces. They attacked en masse, and Justin allowed his training to take over completely, conscious thought giving way to pure motion as he dodged, tumbled, parried and struck. He conserved his essence, choosing sometimes to take a small hit in order to ward off a greater one, but a tiny portion of his mind was aware that it would not be enough. Though bones broke beneath the weight of his feet and fists, though their blood mingled with his and patterned his bare chest in scarlet, and though the silver sand became carpeted with black-clad bodies, there were still more, arriving soundlessly from the mist to replace the ones that fell. Eventually, he knew, his essence would be spent and his charms fail. He would tire. He would make a mistake. And then he would die.

In the icy calm that always descended on him when he fought, he could not even regret. But as his blinding movements began to slow, as his breath came harder, as the steady accumulation of small wounds began to drain his strength, he determined to make their victory a bitter one.

His anima wrapped him in shadow; the cobra rising again as Justin felled warrior after black warrior. A sword bit into his side; its wielder received a punctured heart and dropped, only to be replaced by one who dealt a ringing blow to Justin's head with his mace. Justin grabbed a staff, wrenched it out of its owner's hands, and cleared a space with a sweep of the hard wood, knocking his opponents down like ninepins. But before he could take advantage of the freedom, a swarm of those black arrows zipped through the opening, and he stumbled back under the impact of the shafts that buried themselves in his body.

Blue eyes over a black veil, and the gleaming edge of a sword descending…

:_**It is enough**_.

Justin lay panting on the silver sand, out of breath but unwounded. Pain vanished as the arrows dissolved like smoke. Around him, black warriors stood up, their weapons returning to their hands, bloodstains vanishing into the pearly mist. Justin sat up slowly, feeling numb and exhausted, aware that he had not enough essence left to light his caste mark as the concealing shadows of his magic began to fade.

As one, the crowd of warriors bowed…and vanished. Except for one, standing some ten paces away. This one was clearly a woman, and beautiful. She wore no veil, and the sharp planes of her face seemed carved in dusty gold as she took a single deliberate step toward the exhausted night caste.

Justin felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle when he saw the warrior's eyes. The others had had blue eyes, all of them…but this woman's eyes were without iris or pupil. They were black, like the midnight sky, with a sprinkling of lights like stars.

:_**You have done well**_.

Her voice was melodious, and seemed to echo within his head. He refused to answer, but her lips curved in a smile, and she raised a hand, palm out towards him.

Justin gasped as essence flowed into him, replenishing all that he had spent. His fatigue vanished as well, and he stood before Her as healthy and strong as ever. His eyes were hard as flint as he said, "You did this. You brought me and Kat here."

She nodded. :_**There was need**_, she replied. :_**I do not apologize for that. Although, I am sorry that our Gate brought your wife as well. Such was not our intention**_.

He believed her, and some of his anger left him. "Send them back," he demanded.

The woman cocked her head. :_**And deprive you of another to stand at your side? Are you certain?**_

"Stand against what?"

But the woman only smiled again, though the melody of her voice became a dirge. :_**There are others who should explain these things to you. Fare thee well, Justin Nightbringer.**_

And then the mist faded and Justin found himself standing on the packed brown earth of the yard, two steps from the farmhouse door.

Katriana woke to find her husband staring out the window as he cradled Jessamin. He had an abstracted air, as if he wasn't really seeing the fields and hedgerows beneath the morning sun. He was troubled, she knew, and she hesitated to interrupt his reverie. But before she could do more than sit up, Jessamin began to fuss, and Justin turned toward the bed. His lips curved slightly as he handed their daughter to Kat.

As the baby nursed, she said, "You're upset."

He didn't deny it, nodding slowly as he paced restlessly across the room. "I—had a visitor last night," he said. "Well, lots of visitors," he amended, remembering the horde that had attacked him.

As she listened, he told her about the midnight warriors and the woman. "She was more than a spirit," he concluded, "no mere godling. Her presence…it was like standing before Luna. Or Sol Invictus."

Kat drew in a slow, deep breath as she thought about his conclusions. "She was a greater god. And She brought us here? Where is 'here', exactly?"

"I still don't know. But Kat—I don't think there's anyone like us here. The people who live here—they were frightened when they first saw us, but they aren't afraid of us now. I don't think they know what we are. And I can't imagine anyone _not_ knowing what the Exalted are if they exist at all."

It made sense, but Kat couldn't help analyzing it further. "Perhaps Exaltation takes a different form here. The ones who attacked you—they certainly weren't mortal, or they wouldn't have gotten up again. And the midwife who healed me—her ability was easily the equal of Shiarra's, although she had to draw on some of your essence."

Justin nodded again. "Possibly. But, if it was a form of Exaltation, it was inferior even to the Dragon-Blooded."

"Which might explain why we're here. Perhaps they want us to deal with something their champions cannot. Or perhaps they wish to divine how Sol Invictus creates his Chosen, so that they may duplicate it."

"Perhaps." Justin ran his fingers through his hair and sighed in frustration. "I wish she had given me a more direct answer. If we don't speak the language, how are we supposed to find out what's going on? Aside from direct and bitter experience."

Kat laughed, and her husband only glanced at her with a raised eyebrow. "What's so funny?"

"Have you forgotten what I am? Our charms still work—I can have their language within a matter of days."

"I—" A look of surprise crossed his face, and then he had to laugh at himself. "I did forget," he said, abashed.

Kat slid out of bed, handed him the baby, and reached for her clothes. "You do what you do best," she said. "And I—will do what I do."

Her clothes had been cleaned the previous day, and she was pleased to see that the blood had been removed and the tears carefully mended. She smoothed the lavender underskirt over her hips, then arranged her kimono, patterned with purple wisteria blossoms, in graceful folds. The wide sash was intricately knotted in a pattern that allowed her to pull it free with a single tug. There was a wooden comb on a sort of table, along with a pitcher of water and a bowl. Katriana ran the comb through her blue-black curls and studied her face in the small glass mirror that hung there. She wished briefly for her cosmetics—her fair skin was still a bit pale, and her eyes held faint shadows. Yet she knew, objectively, that she was beautiful.

As she turned away from the mirror, Justin handed her the pair of little paper fans that she kept folded inside her sleeves. She tucked them away, took Jessamin from his arms, and leaned in for a kiss. She savored the firm warmth of his lips against hers for a moment, pulling away reluctantly to leave the little room and make her way to the kitchen—the best place to find information in any household.

Kat stopped briefly at the kitchen door, surveying the activity. Three or four servants bustled back and fourth, under the direction of the lady of the house. At the scrubbed wooden table, Dirk and Talia yawned over steaming mugs of tea. Another man, with hair silvered by age, sat with them; Kat immediately noted the resemblance between him and tall, blond Dirk. The little boy—Jemmie, she remembered—sat wedged between Dirk and Talia, munching on a piece of bread. He turned and stared at Kat with wide eyes and grinned around his breakfast.

She answered his grin with one of her own as she summoned up the barest whisper of essence to evaluate the relationships and hierarchies of the household. Yesterday she had been too busy adapting to her sudden displacement and motherhood to bother, but now it was important to understand these people, as soon as possible.

Kat accepted the tea handed to her with a small bow of thanks. The gesture—one of simple politeness in Great Forks or any of the other civilized cities—was received with some surprise, but no alarm, thanks in part to one of Kat's simple charms. It did not change attitudes, but it made any she interacted with more likely to forgive any social errors, and perceive her in the best light. And yet, Kat also had the feeling that it would not have mattered—these were_good_ people, and they tended to see that good reflected in those around them.

And as the morning progressed, this impression was confirmed. Noting that the preparations seemed far greater and more elaborate than normal for a household of this size, Kat essayed another charm. With elaborate pantomime, made plain by her magic, she asked about the extra work. Immediately, the lady of the household answered. Kat and Justin's appearance had coincided with the greatest of the harvest festivals. There was to be a feast, and some sort of gathering—Kat was unable to determine exactly what kind. Even the magic of the Exalted had its limits. But it was plain that she and Justin were invited to participate, if they desired.

Justin's eyebrow rose sardonically when she relayed the invitation. "Do they always invite strangers to their parties?" he asked.

"Seriously? I think they'd do the same for anyone else," she replied. "Though I wish I knew more about what the celebration is for, aside from the harvest. There seemed to be religious overtones to the explanation I got, but the Poetic Expression Style doesn't allow for subtlety. Complexity, yes, but not subtlety. I got one other interesting piece of gossip while I was inquiring."

"Oh?"

"Dirk and Talia—they're guests, too. Well, Dirk grew up here, but he and his wife don't live here. They're attached to this land's satrap, or whatever their equivalent is, and they're visiting with her leave. I couldn't get a clear picture of exactly what his position is, but Dirk's parents were ridiculously proud of him."

"Hm." Justin thought about that for a moment. "Do you think that's likely to be important?"

Kat shrugged. "I don't really know. But at least we've fallen in with a family with connections. They live simply, but these people are not your common farmers. They are informed, they have family connections at court. That might be something we can use."

"It could also be something they could use against us," he felt compelled to point out.

"Except that they wouldn't. More to the point, I don't think it would occur to them to do so."

Justin mulled that over, and then gave the little shrug that signaled to her that he'd accepted the situation, as far as he understood it. "So…do we attend?" he asked.

"Could we?" Kat replied, and he had to smile at the wistful entreaty in her voice. "Dirk's mother said there would be music and dancing."

He knew how much she loved to dance. "And deprive you of the chance to be the center of attention? What sort of heartless monster do you think I am?"

Her enthusiastic kiss made the question entirely rhetorical.

**Shadows**

As the day wore on, the clan began to gather…and gather…and gather. Justin could only stare in wonder at the sheer number of people that this family claimed. Dirk had only the one child, but the rest of his five siblings were married, with many, many children. There were small people everywhere, filling the farmhouse and overflowing into the yards. Even the roofs and the surrounding woods were overtaken by younglings of indeterminate age and sex. And all of them—children and adults alike—were _noisy_. They talked. All the time, until the chorus of their voices filled the rooms and halls as surely as did their bodies. There was no place to be _alone_.

For Justin, who liked his own company best, this was little short of Malfeas. He paced in the room assigned to him and Kat until the walls became a fist gradually closing in on him. Sheer desperation sent him out the window then, drawing the cloak of his essence around himself to conceal his passage, and he took off across the farmyard, past the stables, and over the fence into the horse pasture. There seemed to be no children here; presumably they had been trained to stay away from the valuable animals. He headed for a small copse of evergreens that stood some distance into the pasture, their heavy dark boughs providing the cover he sought. The branches were spindly, normally not able to support even the weight of a child. But Justin called on yet another charm. Able now to balance on something as slender and fragile as a human hair, he swung himself into the prickly, springy, cedar-scented boughs and settled back with a sigh of contentment.

He breathed deep of the sharp, chill air, and let himself fall into the light meditative trance that let him sort through his thoughts. He set aside his anger at being shanghaied, and concentrated on the reasons for such an action. The gods of this world—or their followers—had gone through a great deal of trouble to bring him here. That spoke of a great deal of power—and also a great deal of desperation.

_I have no way of knowing how much the Incarnae can see between the worlds_, he thought. _And yet, They have given me no hint that anything beyond Creation actually existed. Perhaps They don't know. Perhaps They tell their priests, since They don't tell the rest of us_. He remembered the Lunar, Virtuous Guardian, who had claimed to come from another Creation. Yet her world—if she had been telling the truth—was so much like his that they were functionally identical.

_"Why should your world be so much like mine?"_ He had asked.

She had given him that penetrating look that priests were so good at. _"Why does one lotus blossom look like another?"_ she countered. _"Because that is the shape of lotus blossoms. Or of worlds."_

Justin sighed. If their two worlds, his and Virtuous Guardian's, were two lotus blossoms, then this world was a rose in comparison. Both were lovely flowers, but otherwise they were nothing alike. He wondered if the snake-woman had ever conceived of a place like this, this likeness-with-a-difference.

There was a faint crunch of the needles on the ground below. Justin glanced down, expecting to see a small animal, or perhaps a child. Instead, he found himself looking down at the sapphire-blue eyes of a large white horse. The animal snorted and tossed its head, and Justin got the distinct impression that he'd surprised it. Settling back into his precarious seat, the night caste muttered, "I see I'm not the only one who came here looking for privacy."

The horse snorted again, and Justin had the brief illusion that it agreed. Then carefully, the animal began backing out of the grove, still watching him. It was beautiful, he realized—he'd never seen a beast with a coat like that, one that actually seemed to shine like moonlight in the dimness.

Suddenly suspicious, he narrowed his eyes and invoked the Spirit-Detecting Glance as the animal turned and left. No, it wasn't a horse, even if chose to look like one. Power shimmered around it, revealing the essence of an entirely different shape than the one it wore. Justin bit back an exclamation as it trotted toward the fence, tail held high—and was joined by a similar creature, one that was also "other", but of a magnitude greater. The pair trotted over to the fence, where they were greeted by—Justin's eyebrow rose—Dirk and Talia. To his relief, there was nothing unusual about the man or the woman as they used the fence to mount bareback. But as they rode away, Dirk bent his head close to the mare's, and then straightened and looked directly toward the grove where Justin hid. The night caste bit back an exclamation—he knew that the other man knew he was there. But he could not have known that…

Unless the horse-that-wasn't had told him.

He knew about the familiars that some Exalted had, though he had never bothered with one; his sister Shiarra had one, a horse in fact. She could speak with it somehow, and occasionally see through its eyes. But except for Swift's bond with Shiarra, it was still just a horse. A mortal creature made extraordinary by its association with the Exalted.

This was different. The white horses spirits may have been bound into solid shapes, but they were definitely special. And it evident that they had some sort of bond with their riders. Or did they? Were they bound to a particular human, he wondered, like an Exalt's familiar, or a sorcerer's pet? Or could they pick and choose their associates?

He didn't know how to get the answers to his questions yet, but he knew that it was important to know. As the afternoon shadows grew long, Justin remained in the quiet grove, wrapped in his own thoughts and speculations.

Kat had a much more lively afternoon. After Justin disappeared—a habit she was long used to, and which she didn't begrudge him at all—the ex-courtesan found herself involved in the preparations for the evening's festival. As Jessamin was settled with the rest of the babies, Kat was literally pulled into a circle of the younger members of the family. All of them had lapfuls of straw, or carried branches bright with berries or autumn leaves. Their hands moved with bewildering speed, braiding the bright straw into wreaths and small faceless dolls. Kat watched carefully for a few minutes, and then began imitating the girl on her left as best she could. A few minutes later, her first somewhat ragged wreath was greeted with enthusiastic applause.

A small girl, with hair the same golden yellow as the straw, climbed quite unself-consciously into Kat's lap. Impulsively, Kat selected a spray of brilliant red berries and began weaving them into the curls at the girl's temples. Those nearest to her paused to watch. After the delighted child whooped and ran to show off her new adornments, Kat found herself in the middle of a gaggle of girls, all begging for the same.

This was a familiar task; the girls at the brothels where she had plied her trade were all used to helping each other with their evening's attire. Although beads of carved wood or semi-precious stones had been more common than berries. As she arranged each girl's hair, she observed the rest of the circle. These were all the younger members of the family; aside from Kat, the oldest was perhaps fourteen. She smiled as she caught shy glances being exchanged between several couples, the first clumsy overtures in the dance of courtship and mating. She knew the steps of that dance well, though before Justin, it been a lonely and isolated dance. Many partners, none of them permanent, and everyone knew it. But these youngsters were different. They would find a partner, and the steps of this dance would merge into those of marriage, a shared life, children of their own. For a moment Kat felt almost dizzy with the realization of that cycle.

Then she heard Jessamin begin to fuss and returned to the present with a slight smile for her own fancy. She gently shooed away the girl sitting before her, and stood. Before she could make her way across the room to retrieve the baby, she saw Justin slip in, unnoticed by everyone else. He picked up their daughter and drifted in her direction with the small smile he reserved just for her. She met him halfway, and together they turned and headed for their own room.

The feast took place outside—there really was no other choice. So, long makeshift tables were set up, covered with clean bright cloths and lined with sturdy benches. One table was reserved for the core family; everyone else crowded in willy-nilly. Savory stews, roasts and pies made the rounds, with plenty of hot crusty bread and sweet cider. The spices and flavors were subtly different from what Justin and Kat were used to; nonetheless, they found themselves refusing third helpings from the platters being passed around.

Afterwards, the remainders were carried inside and left on the sideboard, the tables were banished, and the benches pulled into a rough square. On one side, Dirk's parents were settled into their comfortable chairs, brought from the house; Dirk's father settled in with a slight wince from his swollen joints, then relaxed and smiled. Next to Justin, Katriana fairly vibrated with eagerness when she saw the instruments being produced and passed around. As the musicians—all of them part of Dirk's family, Justin noted—struck the first notes of a lively dance, he reached out to take Jessamin from her arms.

"Go on," he told her. "I'll watch you."

She gave him a joyful smile, and her lips brushed his cheek, and in the next instant she was off of the bench and seizing the hand of the young man next to her, swinging the surprised teen into the dance.

She was beautiful, and Justin loved watching her move. She seemed to fly over the grass, barely touching it with her dainty feet. Her indigo eyes were bright with joy, and her cheeks flushed with exertion and the crisp autumn air. The dance was a lively reel, requiring several changes of partners, yet rather than outshining the less skilled, she seemed to elevate even the most awkward.

The music, Justin realized gradually, was better than he would have expected. In fact, most of the performers would not have embarrassed a Dynast's household, and the night caste's estimation of these people rose another notch. Of course, the tunes themselves were unfamiliar, but several times he found himself humming along while Jessamin stared and seemed completely enthralled.

The boy who had been keeping the beat with a hand drum gave a series of beats that seemed to signal a break, and the dancers went back to sit, or find a cool drink, as the musicians shuffled themselves. Justin noted Dirk and Talia come forward with harps as Kat emerged from the crowd and resumed her perch next to him. She started to speak, but stopped when Dirk's father stood. Dirk and Talia struck a rippling chord, and the old man threw back his head and began to sing.

His voice was deep, rich baritone, unexpectedly strong, but it was the words that caught Justin's breath in his chest. _He understood them_. Somehow, their meaning was plain, even to his foreign ears.

"_What has touched me, reaching deep, piercing my ensorcelled sleep?  
Darkling lady, do you weep? What is the cause of your grieving?"_

Justin forgot the crowd around him, forgot the touch of his wife's hand as she reached for him.

"_Why do tears of balm and bane bathe my heart in bitter rain?  
What is this longing, why this pain? What is this spell you are weaving?"_

He was unaware that Talia picked up the next verse; she wasn't Talia. He wasn't Justin. He was Sunsinger, and she was Shadowdancer. Her clear sweet voice carried the echo of the pain in his heart. He loved her, had never loved anyone but her. And yet she kept to the shadows, to the night, could never touch him. And he could never join her there.

"_Sunlight singer, morning's peer, how I long for what I fear!  
Not by my will are you here—how I wish I could free you!_  
"_Gladly in your arms I'd lie, but I dare not come you nigh.  
For if you touch me I shall die—if I were wise I would flee you!"_

They met at twilight, after the sun that was deadly to her had descended and before his own curse could rip him from her yet again. Every night, exchanging words and promises, meetings both painful and bittersweet.

"_Sun and Shadow, dark and light; child of day and child of night  
Who can set our tale aright? Is there no future but sorrow?  
Will some power hear our plea, take the curse from you and me?  
Grant us peace or set us free? Dare we to hope for tomorrow?  
Is there no future but sorrow?"_

And as the last plaintive harp notes drifted off into the twilight, Justin came back to himself with tears running down his cheeks. He became aware that Jessamin was clutched close to his breast, and Kat sat with her arm around him. She was shielding him, he realized, keeping his lack of control from being obvious, and he could only be grateful.

"Are you all right?" she whispered.

No, he wasn't. How could he be, when he'd been forced to live another's life, feel another's pain? "What did you feel?" he whispered hoarsely. "When he sang."

"I…" She bit her lip, and her eyes were shadowed. "I understood him perfectly," she admitted. "And, it was like I was there, living it. I _was_ Shadowdancer."

Justin took a deep, shuddering breath. "What sort of magic is this?" he whispered, half to his wife, half to himself. "That can heal with a touch, and break a heart of flint to make it feel? There is nothing_, nothing_ like this in all of our Creation. Yet here—" Justin shook his head slowly. "He should not have been able to do that to me, Kat."

He felt it as a violation, Kat realized. Self-control was one of the tenants of Justin's personal code. The power of that song had ripped that control away from him and put it in the hands of another. Yet, though she, too, had fallen under the minstrel's spell, she did not feel the violation so keenly.

"Justin," she soothed, noting the beginning of another song and shielding her mind with a hasty charm. "Look at the faces of his family. They expected this. It was part of the entertainment. He could not have known how you would feel about it, after."

And Katriana had been a performer—was still a performer, though she no longer sold her body. She would know. Justin nodded, slowly. He understood, intellectually, anyway. It might take the rest of him some time to catch up with the realization.

He started to stand, opened his mouth to excuse himself.

And then, all hell broke loose.

**Shadow's Bane**

Talia Felt the unease from the far corner and looked up to see Katriana shielding her husband from view as she bent her head to speak to him. Someone not trained in spotting such things would probably have mistaken the position of the woman's body as simply intimate. But to Talia's senses, it was clearly a gesture of protection.

But while intriguing, it wasn't any of her concern, and so she deliberately looked away as she sang the first lines of "A Dark and Stormy Night." The humorous piece was a favorite, and she and Dirk played up the humor as a contrast to "Sun and Shadow."

Then she shivered with a sudden sense of deep cold, and her fingers fumbled on My Lady's strings. Simultaneously, a teenage girl screamed—and the night erupted with shadows.

They evolved, it seemed, from the mundane shadows cast by the lanterns that had been hung from trees and posts. They poured out of those havens and swept across the gathering, as quick and deadly as lightning. They wrapped around their victims like filmy black shrouds, and those that they grabbed screamed in mortal terror, thrashing wildly, until the shadows' influence overcame them, and they sank to the ground whimpering helplessly.

Talia barely had time to register all of this as her empathic senses were overwhelmed with terror. Her mind screamed an incoherent plea to Rolan; dimly, she thought she heard the Companion's answering scream, and then his presence came to somehow stand between her and the mingled fear and panic of the family, and she was no longer helpless before the onslaught. She struggled to her feet—and saw that next to her, both Dirk and his mother were enveloped in the inimical darkness.

They spoke, she realized, with a maddening, hissing voice. She reached for the one that wrapped around her husband, but the deadly chill of the thing repelled her, and she sobbed helplessly, unable to touch it. She grabbed My Lady by her strings, heedless of the potential damage to the instrument, and swung at the shadow. She succeeded only in striking Dirk's shoulder. The shadow only hissed viciously, and refused to relinquish its victim.

Then there was a blur of motion next to Talia. She blinked tears from her eyes and realized it was Justin. The foreigner reached for the shadow enveloping Dirk's mother with hands curved like claws, and seemed to tear into its filmy body. Talia winced as it keened, and its insubstantial body seemed to fade, drawn into Justin. And then it disappeared, and the woman keeled over into Justin's arms.

Justin turned to Talia, and she gulped at the raw emotion in his eyes as he transferred Dirk's mother to Talia's arms. He said something. She couldn't understand the words, but the message was clear enough. _Take care of her_. Talia nodded, and then a cold mask slammed down over the man's features, and he whirled and began tearing through the shadows as if they were so many gauze scarves.

Talia blinked tears from her eyes and knelt awkwardly, laying the older woman on the grass as gently as she could. Beside her, Dirk groaned and tried to rise as their Companions came pounding up beside them. Ahrodie nudged Dirk with her nose, and stood stock still as he grabbed her mane and pulled himself shakily to his feet. Rolan stood like a guard dog over his Herald and her charge.

"They can't help," Dirk muttered weakly. "The Companions…can't fight this."

"No," Talia replied. "But _they_ can. Look!"

Dirk followed her shaking finger and saw Justin flowing across the ground like a shadow himself. That strange dark light they had seen the first night began to play over his body as he methodically attacked the unwelcome guests. The shadows hesitated—then many of them abandoned their previous victims and converged on the whirling, leaping, glowing agent of their destruction.

There was a glimmer of bright silk beside them, and Talia realized that Katriana was standing there, with her daughter cradled across her chest in a makeshift sling, and the salt-crock in her arms. As Talia frowned, wondering what on earth that homely substance had to do with the situation, the woman pulled a handful of salt from the crock and began drawing a circle on the lawn with it. The pursuing shadows seemed unable to cross the line, while the fleeing family had no problem passing the barrier. In moments, the circle was crowded with shivering, sobbing people, some carrying others who had succumbed to their attacker's influence. Talia's mental shields shivered under the press of so many people's rampant emotions, but Rolan was there in her mind, reassuring her even as he reinforced her mental bulwarks, and gradually, she was able to get people calm, to help Kat make certain that everyone stayed within the protective circle as the strange and silent battle raged just outside its invisible walls.

Beyond the circle, Justin whirled and spun and ripped at the intruders. If their attacks were affecting him at all, Talia couldn't tell. Timidly, she tried to get a sense of him, but her Empathy was blocked by his shields. They were the most perfect she had ever encountered, smooth and cold as glass to her senses. His face, what she could still see through the bizarre shroud of dark light, was set. Not angry—merely hard and empty as he dispatched shade after shade.

And then, almost as soon as it had begun, it was over. Justin stood alone in the yard, his anima playing over him, his eyes flickering about the yard, seeking any shadows that might have escaped. Finding none, he turned to face the circle and said something to Katriana. Kat nodded; a small smile touched her lips, and the gathered family released a collective sigh of relief.

Justin found himself suddenly swarmed by chattering, nearly hysterical people. He scowled and pushed impatiently past them. They moved aside, seemingly content to touch his arm or his sleeve as he passed. He ignored them and stalked to where Dirk's mother lay with her head in her husband's lap. Talia knelt beside her with her fingers resting lightly on the older woman's temples. One of the spirit-horses—the one Talia had been riding earlier—stood guard over both of them. It looked deeply into Justin's eyes as he approached. Justin returned the gaze steadily, having nothing to hide from such a spirit. The horse snorted, and moved aside with what could only be described as a bow.

Talia met Justin's gaze as he knelt, and Felt the walls come down. His face was still impassive, but his worry showed clearly in his eyes as he laid one hand gently on the older woman's chest. His question was clear.

"She'll be all right, I think," Talia replied. She hesitated, not certain how much he understood. "I'm something of a Mindhealer. I can help her. Just give me a moment, please?"

Justin glanced at Kat, who was unwrapping her sash from Jessamin and retying it about her waist. She said something quietly; Justin nodded, then stood, bowed briefly to Talia, and went to his wife.

Kat drew him close, and he allowed the public embrace, bending to drop a kiss first on Jessamin's cheek, then on Kat's. His anima still burned, shielding them from prying eyes as she asked, "Who did you see?"

He hesitated only a moment before he answered, "My mother. Or, anyway, the old herb-woman who raised me."

"Ah." Kat answered.

"I was eight when she was murdered," he continued. "I couldn't save her. And no-one would help me."

"You saved this one," Kat said gently, and Justin nodded.

"I haven't thought about her in a long time," he confessed. "I can't even really remember what she looked like. Sometimes, though, I remember her voice. Singing to me." He clung fiercely to his wife, and she responded by reaching up to tap him lightly on the nose.

"You've done it now, you know," she said playfully.

"Done what?" he asked suspiciously.

She laughed. "Become a hero, of course. They'll tell this story for years, about the wounded strangers who showed up on their doorstep, and went on to save them all from hungry ghosts." She laughed harder at his expression of disgust and added, "Perhaps they will even write a song."

Justin groaned and buried his face in her hair. He hated being the center of attention, unlike Kat, who thrived in the spotlight. "Damn," he said. "Is it too late to just kill them all?" he asked hopefully.

Talia closed her eyes and focused, reaching for the mind of her husband's Mother. Immediately, she was buffeted by waves of mindless terror, unable to reach the woman imprisoned behind them. Instinctively, she reached for Rolan, then for Dirk. They anchored her, and Talia raised a glowing mental "hand" to the fearful winds. Without the shadows' influence behind them, they withered under her touch, and Talia used all of Dirk's love for his Mother as a beacon to guide the woman back to her family.

It was midnight by the time Talia and Dirk's mother finally finished treating all of those affected by the shadows. The farmhouse had never been meant to hold as many people as were sleeping in all of its corners now, but there had been little choice. In the meantime, Justin and Kat had insisted on warding all of the doors and windows with salt. Having seen the shadow's reaction to the circle outside, Talia had given her permission. _Not_, she thought, _that they needed it_. She felt that had she not given her permission, they would have done it anyway.

Now she sat slumped at the kitchen table, cradling a mug of strong tea.

"Where are they now?" Dirk asked wearily.

Talia was too tired to sense past the end of her own nose, but she listened to he faint scrapings coming from overhead and said, "On the roof. I think they're laying salt around the chimneys, too."

Dirk grunted. "We've got to get back to Haven," he said.

"I know." Talia got up and stretched, tying to bring feeling back to her numb backside. "I had Rolan contact Gwena. We need to get back as fast as possible. And we need our guests with us, if they'll come."

"I know. I'm tired, I can't think—"

Talia perched on the edge of the table and rubbed her husband's shoulders soothingly. "I know," she said. "Me, too." She sighed. "We need them I think—what happened tonight—it's too much like what's been happening all along the border. But this is the first I've heard of anyone actually stopping it before there was too much damage. It's obvious these people have fought these things before."

"If they were Valdemaran citizens, we could just _take_ them to Haven," Dirk said, gulping his cold tea.

"But they're not. They're strangers, foreigners. And—" she hesitated for a moment, not certain how to convey what Rolan had tried to tell her. "Rolan says there's something else about them, something special. I wish I were a true Thought-sensor. I can't figure out exactly what he means."

"Huh." Dirk's eyes got that unfocused look Heralds got when speaking to their Companions. "Ahrodie says the same thing, but she also says she's tired and not going to worry about it tonight." He grinned suddenly, the warm smile that transformed his homely face into something almost saintly. "And that I should go to bed."

As he stood up and reached for Talia's hand, Justin and Kat appeared silently at the kitchen door. Justin held Jessamin, and hung back as Kat approached the pair. As usual, her words were incomprehensible, yet her eloquent gestures and expressions made her meaning as plain as Mindspeech.

"You are leaving tomorrow?" she asked. When Dirk and Talia both nodded, she said, "Justin and I will go with you."

As Dirk and Talia blinked in sheer surprise, Kat explained, "My husband and I were brought here for some purpose that we do not understand. We do not know who did this, or how, or why. But we wish to speak to your sorcerers, and find a way home. In return, we offer our aid and advice against the hungry ghosts."

And with that final surprise, she nodded serenely and left with her husband and daughter.

"Well," said Dirk after a moment's stunned silence. "That was easy."


	3. Chapter 3

**Safe Haven**

_A/N: A slight cannon mistake here--I didn't realize that Gating wasn't supposed to be possible at this point after the Mage Storms! Please forgive the mistake. As usual, I claim no possession of Velgarth or it's inhabitants__Dave owns Justin Nightbringer, but Katriana is mine, all mine!  
_

The young Bardic trainee sat on a wooden bench in the deserted winter garden. Her rust-red robes were the only splash of color in the pale white and gray surroundings. The grass was white with frost, the trees in variegated shades of gray across a paler gray sky.

She tuned her lute as her breath puffed white in the chill air, and ran through the fingering exercises that no bard or minstrel ever neglected. There was feeling of anticipation today as she envisioned the music to the old ballad she had come here, in private, to practice. The song troubled her; perversely, she refused to put it aside. What was it about death, she wondered, that was so attractive? She was determined to find out, to discover that essential quality of understanding that still eluded her.

"_Shadow-Lover, never seen by day,  
Only deep in dreams do you appear.  
Wisdom tells me I should turn away,  
Love of mist and shadows all unclear,  
Nothing can I hold of you but thought.  
My Shadow-Lover, mist and twilight wrought."_

As if her song had summoned him, the bard saw a lone figure appear silently, and she nearly dropped her lute. But the arrival only folded his arms and leaned against an arbor. A nod of his head invited her to continue.

"_Shadow-Lover, comfort me in pain,  
Love, although I never see your face.  
All who'd have me fear you speak in vain,  
Never would I shrink from your embrace…_"

The young bard's voice swelled as her confidence grew, and her hands remembered their command of the lute strings. Her audience watched quietly, his breath showing plainly in the evening chill.

"_Shadow-Lover, sooth me when I mourn,  
Mourn for all who left me here, alone.  
When my grief is too much to be borne.  
When my burdens crushing great have grown,  
Shadow-Lover, I can not forget.  
Help me bear the burdens I have yet."_

"_Shadow-Lover, you alone can know  
How I long to reach a point of peace.  
How I fade with weariness, and woe,  
How I long for you to bring release—  
Shadow-Lover, court me in my dreams.  
Bring the peace that suffering redeems."_

The bard stole a glance at the watcher. He stood wrapped in his warm woolen cloak, eyes closed, head back against the bare arbor. His expression was—exalted? Suffering? Perhaps a bit of both, a curious mixture of pain and joy. But suddenly the bard realized that this man knew the Shadow-Lover, intimately. He had danced with her many times, flirted with her, and sent her many other partners, yet always eluded her final embrace. But when that time finally came, when he could no longer avoid her, he would go gladly to her arms.

And then, it made sense. The missing element, that essential understanding, slid into place as she launched into the final verse.

"_Shadow-Lover, from the shadows made,  
Lead me into shadow once again.  
Where you lead I cannot be afraid.  
For with you I shall come home again.  
In your arms I shall not fear the night.  
My Shadow-Lover, lead me into light."_

As the last minor chords died away, Justin, called Nightbringer in his homeland, Shadowsbane in Valdemar, felt more at peace than he had since his arrival in this world. He straightened his shoulders, bowed politely to the young bard, and continued his interrupted journey to the Palace, completely unaware of the fact that he had just helped make someone else's name.

They had been a week in Haven already; getting there had been a matter of simply stepping through a portal, much like the one that had brought them to Valdemar in the first place. Dirk and Talia and their steeds had gone first. The two had worn identical white uniforms, which had given Justin a touch of unease. In the East of his Creation, white was the color of mourning, and it took him several hours to realize that these uniforms represented something far different.

After Dirk and Talia, Justin and Katriana had linked hands and stepped through. The journey this time was much less disorienting—Jessamin slept right through it. They found themselves in the arch of a doorway, the only remaining part of a building of ruined white marble. Before them stretched a grassy park or field, with groves of trees and small springs or ponds scattered through it, and beyond that the towers and walls of marble and granite that could only be the Palace.

They had been met by yet another Herald—Elspeth, "Herald to the Outlanders." She wore one of those blindingly white uniforms like Dirk and Talia, though hers had been so elaborately and creatively designed that there was nothing uniform about it. The white mare beside her was another powerful spirit, much like Talia's stallion. Glancing around, Justin noted many more of the white steeds scattered across the field. Some had riders, some were alone, but all of them shimmered with power to under the Spirit-Detecting Glance. As Justin had evaluated their surroundings, Kat had shifted Jessamin in her arms and gone to greet their host.

Elspeth was a handsome young woman with a mane of white hair ornamented by a single beaded feather at her temple. Her eyes, a light silvery blue, examined the pair frankly as she clasped their hands in the typical Valdemaran greeting. "_I'm sorry to be so blunt about this,_" she said, and her words echoed in their heads, perfectly understandable. "_**Normally**__ I wouldn't throw Mindspeech at you without permission_," she said as Justin instinctively drew back. "_But then, __**normally**__ I wouldn't be getting ready to spill my country's problems to a complete stranger. These are __**not**__ normal times._" She sighed then, and Justin realized that despite her straight posture and steady gaze, that she looked tired. Exhausted in fact, with deep lines dug in about her mouth that did not belong on so young a face.

"_I'll be frank with you_," she continued. "_While we won't hold it against you if you can't help us, I hope that you can, because right now every mage we have—the people who actually stand the most chance of figuring out how to get you back where you came from—is trying to defend our borders against increasing pressure from things that we simply don't understand. We can't even determine that they are connected, except that our Foreseers have fits every time they try to come to some sort of conclusion about them_."

Though it was a neat way around the language barrier, Justin was apprehensive about this "Mindspeech." "Do you hear my thoughts?" he asked cautiously.

"_Only enough to understand your words_," she replied. "_Please understand that for everyone in Valdemar born with such a Gift, there are a hundred or more who are not. We don't forget that, ever. And you—both of you—are very closed off and hard to read any way. __**If**__ you were thinking very hard about something, and __**if**__ I were looking, I might catch a glimpse. But I wouldn't look, because it's __**your**__ head_."

As Elspeth spoke, Katriana looked at her with a penetrating gaze and her caste mark began to glow. Like Justin's, it appeared as an empty golden ring, shedding a blaze of golden light across the winery field. The white mare snorted and tossed her mane, but Elspeth only waited quietly as subtle shades of lavender and gray veiled Kat's form.

"She…speaks truly," Kat said quietly to Justin. "Though there is much she does not say. But though the price of her soul is different from yours, it is just as high and unobtainable."

Which was Kat's way of saying that she could be trusted. Justin assumed she had a reason for making a display of that test—she could hide her charms as well as he could. Mollified, he relaxed—a bit—and Elspeth smiled.

"_Let's get you settled in then, shall we? There's a lot you need to know about us, and a lot we need to know about you_."

Protocol had been neatly sidestepped. Talia had simply declared them "Envoys of the Scavenger Lands," procured them a suite of rooms in the Palace proper, and handpicked a few Heralds-in-training to act as servants for the pair. Since then, both of them had been pushing themselves, learning the ways and language of Valdemar with a speed that boggled the natives, but still left Justin frustrated.

Today, he hoped to see some progress. Elspeth had asked him to meet with her and a few others, to "put the puzzle together," as she put it. "Your grasp of the language is better than decent, and I've finally managed to get the people I was waiting for to the Palace," she said. "Maybe we can make all get some questions answered." So now, Justin took the shortcut across the Palace gardens, moving so lightly he barely dented the crust of snow on the grass.

Justin entered the palace and navigated the halls to the conference room Elspeth had specified. She was already there, conferring quietly with her mate Darkwind and Kat. On the other side of the U-shaped table sat two young men. One had the long white hair that seemed to mark many mages, and was dressed in a quilted jacket and fringed tunic of a deep midnight blue. His skin was pale gold, his eyes green-yellow and slit-pupiled, and his long graceful fingers ended in short, sharp talons. _It figures that the god-blooded here would take to sorcery_, Justin thought.

His companion, who smiled warmly as if the two were old friends, was a youth—not quite a boy, but still very young—dressed in voluminous robes of black velvet heavily embroidered with gold, with a gold sun-disc resting on his chest. His skin was dark and his hair and eyes very black. On his lap sat a cat the size of a mastiff. Its creamy fur was marked with flame at its face, paws and tail, and its rumbling purr was clearly audible to Justin as he silently entered the room.

Elspeth broke off her conversation as Justin entered. "Good, we're all here," she said briskly. "Justin, you've met Darkwind…this," she pointed to the one in blue, "is An'desha. He's a mage of the Shin'a'in, and also a priest of sorts. And this is Karal," she continued, indicating the one in black. "He's the envoy from Karse, and a priest of Vkandis Sunlord."

"I'm honored to meet you both," Justin replied.

An'desha spoke first, folding his hands into his sleeves and nodding his head. "I am honored to meet you as well, Nightbringer." He looked at Justin calmly and said, "You have had a week now to observe us, to see some of our magics. But your ways are strange to us, very strange. What can you tell us, of how your magics work, of the difference between ours and yours?"

Justin raised an eyebrow and smirked slightly. "If my sister were here, she could tell you more, I'm sure. But the core of magic is essence, and the ability to manipulate it. The Exalted are chosen by the gods, and granted the ability to manipulate essence in straightforward ways, like the Charms some of you have seen my wife and I use, and in the more esoteric forms of sorcery. I'm no sorcerer, so I may not be able to tell you HOW it's done, but those are the basics as I understand them."

There was some surprise around the table at this. Karal leaned forward and said, in slightly accented Valdemaran, "So you are god-chosen? What is your god called, and how are you chosen. How does this give you the ability to manipulate essence?" As he spoke, Justin noticed the blank stare of his eyes and realized that the young priest was blind.

"Katriana and I are Chosen by the Unconquered Sun," Justin replied. "We are of the Night Caste, Chosen by Him to receive a shard of His Own essence, that we may use it to be his eyes, his ears, and his daggers, where His sword might not reach. According to our history, in the dawn of time, when Creation was new, the Gods decided to rise up against their creators, the Primordials. They were unable to act directly, so they chose mortal champions to act in their stead. This is how the Exalted came to be. Each god chooses the mortals whom they exalt according to their own aims... I was Chosen when I delivered Justice to my mother's killer with my own hands, after spending years tracking him and learning the skills I would need to defeat him."

Elspeth and Darkwind both looked as if they had been hit in the back of the head with a board. An'desha and Karal both murmured something in their native tongues. An'desha turned to Karal and said, "I believe I see the Star-Eyed's hand in this."

Karal nodded, and turned his blind gaze Justin. "You are chosen, you say, by the Unconquered Sun. I am a priest of Vkandis Sunlord." A complex series of emotions flickered across his face before it returned to its former serenity. "I believe, Justin Nightbringer, that you are the answer to a desperate prayer."

"I've been many things in my service to the Unconquered Sun," Justin replied, "but the answer to a prayer may be a new one." He would not allow his face to show the joke, but Kat slid him an amused glance across the table. "Please explain."

An ironic smile quirked Karal's mouth. "I understand," he said. "It is not a comfortable thing, to be singled out for a god's attention…Anyway, the shadows you fought a week ago were not the first such attack."

Justin steepled his fingers and leaned forward intently.

"They have been occurring in both Karse and Valdemar," Karal continued, "nibbling at our borders. Single farmsteads, and even whole settlements, have been left dead or populated with mindless husks, reduced to babbling insanity by fear and terror. Conventional magics have had little or no effect. On Solaris' orders, our priesthood has been doing its best to exorcise these spirits and lay them to rest. But though we have had some success, we cannot be everywhere."

Justin shook his head in disbelief. "Pardon me…but are you saying that you people have never encountered hungry ghosts before?"

Karal shook his head. "It is very uncommon. In fact, according to the Writ of Vkandis, no one who is of His faith could possibly become a ghost, and the deities of other lands seem to take equally good care of their people's spirits. There is a tradition that the unblessed dead can rise as angry spirits…but while we of Vkandis have some lore, never in our history have we encountered anything this…extensive."

Justin bowed his head and spoke almost to himself. "Our world is besieged by the creatures of the night. The hordes of the Restless Dead pour into Creation through the Shadowlands, expanding their territories at the orders of the Deathlords. Our Circle fights them at every turn, wherever we encounter them."

Again that ironic smile touched Karal's mouth. "Some weeks ago, I made a request of Vkandis," he continued. "I prayed for some guidance, some understanding of this new threat. I was answered. Not only by Vkandis himself, but by another, about whom I have known, though I have never encountered Her directly." Karal nodded to An'desha as he spoke. "They—Vkandis and Kal'enal—told me that the source of the problem lay outside this world entirely. As did the solution."

Everyone at the table was listening intently to Karal's words. Justin bowed his head briefly before turning to Katriana. "If the Deathlord's armies are attacking this world which lies naked before them, we cannot stand aside. We must help them, my love. I can only wish that Shiarra, Xiao Shan, Orrym, and Captain Flint had managed to come with us."

There was a collective sigh around the table, and Karal said quietly, "I am sorry that we could not ask you more politely for you help. I am more grateful than you can imagine that you have decided to give it."

Justin straightened up and asked briskly, "These attacks you've been suffering…can you plot them out on a map? If we can find a point of origin, we may be able to stop them at the source."

Elspeth snorted as Darkwind murmured something to the gray-clad trainee standing beside the door. The boy nodded and scampered out as Elspeth said, "We can plot them for you, but we haven't been able to find a single point of origin. The attacks are coming all along our borders and Karse's, and even into parts of Hardorn. Now, the rulers of all three of those lands are bound to the earth, so they know immediately when something has happened. Unfortunately, the earth-sense doesn't give them any kind of advance warning. And lately, all three rulers have reported 'dead spots' where their senses don't reach. We can't scry those places, either, and when we sent Heralds to a few of them…" Elspeth's voice choked momentarily, "they didn't come back. And the Death Bell rang for them."

Justin nodded. "Those 'dead spots' will be the points of origin for the local attacks," he said as the trainee returned with a map almost as tall as he was. Darkwind helped him tack it to the wall, and Justin saw that there were perhaps fifty places marked in red, and several marked in black.

"But there are more than twenty of them!" Elspeth complained, indicating the black areas. "What can we do about them when we can't see them, can't scry them, and no-one comes back from them?"

"There are several things you can do," Justin assured her. "They will be expensive. How much salt can you gather? A blessing and a ward of salt will keep the hungry dead there from attacking the surrounding countryside."

Elspeth shrugged as Karal grabbed a pen and began scribbling notes. His head remained turned toward Justin, but the cat jumped onto the table and peered intently at the paper. "Salt's fairly common around the Evendim area," Elspeth replied. "I suppose we could get it by the wagonload, if we had to."

"Good. However, for you to have so many Shadowlands spring up in so short a time probably means you have bigger problems." He peered at the map. "Have there been great battles at these locations, or atrocities such as mass murders? These and other causes of many deaths in a short time are things that weaken the Shroud between the land of the living and the land of the dead. Where it is thinnest, the Restless Dead, and especially the Deathknights, the dark Exalted, can punch through, allowing the darkness of death into the living world."

Elspeth furrowed her brow and pointed to spot on the southern border of Valdemar. "Well, this is near Burning Pines, on the Karsite border…that was almost a century ago, where Lavan Firestorm took out the Karsite army, and ultimately himself. And here…" she moved a bit to the east, "is where the final battle with the Tedrels took place, about thirty years ago. That war took four years to resolve, and it was pretty bloody." Her finger touched several spots on the eastern border. "There was some pretty nasty stuff over here when Ancar tried to invade—he literally walked over the bodies of his own men to try to take Valdemar. Fortunately, he's dead now, and the land is recovering well under Tremane's rule. Or was, until this latest mess started."

Justin studied the map. "A single deathknight could create small Shadowlands easily, left unopposed," he said. "And these, the sites of these large battles you speak of, would be the places to look for him. For the smaller Shadowlands, for now, salt wards to fend off the restless dead will have to do."

Darkwind and An'desha asked simultaneously, "What's a deathknight?"

"The Deathlords rule over the Underworld," Justin told them, "and direct the dead according to their own sinister schemes. A deathknight is someone, chosen at the moment of his death by a Deathlord, to receive a twisted sort of Exaltation. They are given powers comparable to mine, but are made slaves to their undead masters."

An'desha leaned forward and said quietly, "I know something of how power can be twisted. Have you directly encountered one of these…deathknights?"

Justin's eyes grew so cold and hard that Elspeth and Darkwind recoiled involuntarily. "I have slain three on my own, and twelve more with the help of my circle."

An'desha was unfazed. "Do they fight as you do? Do they use what you call sorcery? Can they see into the minds and hearts of others as your wife can?"

"Yes. To all of that, and more. In addition to mighty charms and sorceries, they also practice Necromancy, a dark art that gives them the power to command the dead and bend the force of Death itself to their ends," Justin said.

Now Darkwind had a question. "You speak of charms and sorcery as if they were two different things. Elspeth and I have both seen you and your wife use mage-energy—what you call essence. Are these charms or sorcery? What is the difference?"

Justin thought about that one for a moment. "A charm is a straight-forward way of using Essence to enhance something normal or natural," he said finally. "It enables me to be deadlier in battle, quieter when I sneak, or allows Kat to use her natural understanding of people to read people with supernatural accuracy. Sorcery on the other hand, uses huge amounts of Essence, shaped by the sorcerer's will, to directly violate the natural order... creating something from nothing, destroying something utterly, changing something from one thing into something else... Sorcery is limited solely by the Essence available to the Sorcerer, and the sorcerer's own will to power."

All three mages concentrated intensely on Justin's words, until Elspeth scowled and said, "So you could use a charm to be stronger or faster or smarter, but to make an illusion or call lightning, you have to use sorcery? That doesn't make sense!"

"Obviously it does to him, _ashke_," Darkwind chided her gently. "What more can you tell us?" he asked Justin.

Justin sighed. "If a Deathlord has found a portal to your world, he will have sent his most potent agents to bring it to heel," he said.

"What advice can you give us about dealing with these…agents?"

"I—look, over there!" In the split second when all attention was directed away from himself, Justin drew on his essence and draped a cloak of essence about himself. Invisible and silent, he moved to stand behind Darkwind and Elspeth as they looked frantically around the room for him. He dropped the cloak just as he placed his hands on their shoulders and whispered in their ears, "You send an exalt to kill an exalt, my friends."

Both Elspeth and Darkwind reacted immediately, Darkwind with a punch that Justin easily deflected, and Elspeth with a knife dropped from an arm-sheath. Justin handed the blade back to her after snagging it out of the air. Her complexion was milk-white as she accepted it.

What could only be described as a snigger intruded into Justin's mind, and he turned to see the cat staring at him with bright blue eyes.

_:Nice trick,_ came the words into his mind.

_Thank you,_ he thought back. _I've always liked that charm._

There was the feeling of laughter from the cat, with a flavor like crisp green apples, before the connection was broken.

"All right, very funny," Elspeth was saying sourly. "You've proved your point. Now we've got to find this…deathknight."

Kat stood up then, clapping her hands for attention. "I think we all have much to think about," she said. "Elspeth, you should work with Karal to dispatch the priests with salt—he knows the blessings, and you know where they need to go. Justin and I will find this deathknight, and stop him. Or her," she said, sliding a glance at Justin, and he knew that she was remembering his stories about the Grave Lily. She looked back at Karal and An'desha. "If your gods have anything more to contribute, we would appreciate it. You know how to find us."

"In the meantime—" she made a deep curtsey, "we will leave you now. What we do is best kept under night's shield." And with that said, she took her husband's arm and walked with him, out of the room.

Justin began chuckling quietly. "Gee, honey," he said in his native Riverspeak, "I was just about done waxing verbose…why did you let me do all of the talking?"

Kat tossed her hair and sniffed. "I have been talking all day," she said, "to vapid courtiers, easing the paranoia of our presence. I thought it was your turn. Besides, you have a great deal more experience with deathknights and hungry ghosts."

He smiled at her, pulling her closer to him. "Fair enough," he said amiably. "I trust I made my point?"

She smiled back. "You did," she assured him.

"I wonder how many Heralds have died scouting these Shadowlands," he mused.

Kat's expression was sober. "Four or five, from what I've been able to gather, over a matter of two or three days. They stopped sending them as soon as they knew what was happening. Justin—" she hesitated, and Justin stopped to face her, hearing the unaccustomed diffidence in her voice.

"What is it?" he asked quietly.

"I want to help these people," she said. "But I'm not sure how much help I can be. All of my charms are geared toward the living—I have no charms against the dead."

"The important thing to remember," Justin told her, "is that the deathknights are not ghosts."

"True…but do they have the same weaknesses as mortals? Justin, I can inflame and enslave the passions of anyone alive, so that they would follow me anywhere…does a deathknight have those same passions?"

"They do," Justin said firmly. "Some are cold, colder than I am…but you broke through my armor, and you can break through theirs. Some burn hotter than any mortal, and I have no doubt that that would prove their undoing around you." He paused for a moment, thinking. "The key to me defeating a deathknight one-on-one has always been surprise. But if they're paying any attention to what's going on in this city—and they'd be fools not to—then they already know we're here, and they'll expect that I'll be coming for them." He kissed her forehead, and they resumed their walk in silence until they reached the suite of rooms Talia had assigned them.

"It's dark outside," Kat murmured, running her hands down Justin's arms and feeling the tension gathered there. "Do you need to go out for a while?"

"No," he said as he opened the door. Pulling her close to him, he said, "I'm right where I need to be."

Kat's low, husky laugh escaped before the door shut firmly behind them.


	4. Chapter 4

**Escalation**

_A/N: I had a good time writing this--I finally got a chance to let my Exalts shine! As usual, I own nothing, I make no money, please don't sue. Thanks to Dave for letting me borrow Justin._**  
**

It was late, and Justin still couldn't sleep. Kat lay with one arm draped possessively over his body, not sleeping, just drowsing. Their lovemaking had been fierce, almost desperate in its intensity. But though his passion was sated for the moment, he still couldn't sleep.

Perhaps he made a small sound, or perhaps it was just that she loved him. But Kat stirred beside him, raising herself up on her elbows and looking down into his face.

"You're restless," she observed. Her fingers traced the line of his brows. "Will you tell me about it?"

Justin was silent for a moment. "I wish there was someone else," he confessed. His eyes moved briefly to the cradle where Jessamin lay quietly. "I don't want to be the only thing standing between you and Jessamin and this whole world, and—and the Shadow-Lover."

"The Shadow-Lover?" Kat sounded amused.

"A bard's reference to Death," he replied, remembering the song he'd heard in the garden that evening. He sat up, letting the sheet slide to his waist. "These people are so strangely innocent," he said. "And there's a –a wholeness to this place, to this entire world."

"What do you mean?" Kat asked curiously.

Justin frowned, struggling for the words to express his conclusions. "Do you know, that except for the Companions and that cat of Karal's, I haven't seen a single spirit or elemental since we arrived? I know they're there—but they're not as separate, as independent as they are in our Creation. The essence around us is integrated, all five elements blending together." He stood up, stretched. "The wind still carries air, and the flames fire, but the dragon lines don't have any particular elemental flavor."

"We've met three of their most powerful sorcerers, and two of them were mortal!"

"Three," Kat corrected quietly.

"But An'desha—"

"Is mortal," she said with quiet certainty. "There is no god-blood in him. The changes in him—they are only cosmetic. He was born as human as you or I."

Justin nodded. "That only confirms what I've been thinking," he said. "Kat—I think I know why there are no Exalted here. _They don't need them_. They've _never_ needed them. Until now." He ran his fingers through his hair as he began to pace. "You've heard them this last week—they talk about magic and healing and their mind-speech, and they call them all 'Gifts'. I think that's exactly what they are, Kat. I think the gods of this world have chosen a more subtle approach to governing Creation."

"But their subtle approach will allow the demons of our world to walk right over this one."

Justin nodded. "Exactly. And so Vkandis Sunlord and Kal'enal reached across the boundries of Creation—do you suppose they managed to communicate with Sol Invictus or Luna? Do our gods know where we are, or have our stars disappeared from their ken?"

"Surely they must know something." Kat rose and placed a reassuring hand on her husband's arm. "But that's not what's really bothering you."

"No." He turned and embraced her, inhaling the scent of her skin. "Sometimes I wish I didn't care quite so much. Sometimes I wish I could be the same cold bastard I used to be. Before I met Shiarra, and Xiao Shan. Before I met you. It didn't hurt as much."

She returned the embrace. Her small soft hands stroked the muscles of his shoulders in soothing patterns as she said, "I don't think you ever were that man. Not really." He started to protest, but she shushed him with a finger to his lips and looked directly into his eyes. "You were hurt," she said. "Deeply hurt. The wall of ice you built was armor. I know, Justin—I've seen it, over and over, among the courtesans I grew up with, among our clients. But behind that wall—Justin, you've always had more passion in you than any one I've ever known. I went looking for you seeking only to capture the attention of the Nightbringer that everyone was whispering about. Instead, you captured me, when I looked into your heart. There is blood on your hands, yes, but _here_—" she pressed a hand against his heart, felt its steady strong beat, "here, there is a nobility purer than anything I've seen before. It shamed me when I first saw it. It still does."

"You don't kill because you don't care. You kill because you do. Because you know what will happen if evil is allowed to remain unchallenged, and because if no one else can challenge it, then you will. You do what must be done. For the world. That's why the Sun Chose you, Justin. And it's why I love you."

Justin let out the breath he'd been holding, pressing himself tightly against his wife's body, feeling the truth of her words. "You know me so well, woman," he murmured into her hair.

Laughter colored her voice. "Sometimes, I know you better than you know yourself. And I know that right now, you are chafing at being within these four walls of the Palace." He pulled back and looked at her with a raised eyebrow, and she laughed merrily.

"Get dressed," she said. "Go for a walk on the roof, or a run through Companion's Field. I'll wait for you, and when you get back maybe we can both get some sleep."

He ran through what was called "Companion's Field." More than a simple pasture, it was a world in itself. A world of hills, hollows, and valleys, studded with copses of trees and carpeted with velvet grass. Springs and pools stood here and there, shaded by willows or gleaming silently in the moonlight. The moon itself was only a sliver, but it was still like a physical touch on his face. He ran without destination or purpose, for the sheer joy of feeling himself free.

A flash of white—Justin realized that a Companion was pacing him, and he put a little more effort into his run. The Companion snorted playfully and lengthened its stride to keep up. The world whipped by in a blur as they raced flat out across the Field, and Justin invoked the Racing Hare method, feeling essence give his feet wings as his speed redoubled. Incredibly, the Companion increased its speed to match, its hooves becoming a silver blur in the dim light.

Justin was beginning to sweat, and faint shadows wrapped themselves about his body. Drops of white foam flew from the Companion's body, and suddenly the fence that marked the boundary of the Field loomed before them. _That fast?_ was all that Justin had time to think, and then he was there. There was no discernable pause as he gathered his muscles and sprang, landing on the road that passed through the center of Haven and led right to the Palace gates. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a white blur and heard the chiming of four silver hooves on the road—and they were off again, through the narrow twisted streets of Valdemar's capitol.

Justin had the advantage of maneuverability—a horse, no matter how agile, cannot change direction as fast as a man can—but was forced to abandon the Racing Hare Method or plow straight into a wall. Neither one of them had anything like a straight track. The streets twisted about, the main thoroughfares spiraling inwards, crossed at intervals by shorter lanes. A good move, defensively, but it made a hell of a racecourse. Again, Justin had a slight advantage, because he could often go over what he couldn't go around, but the same could be said of the Companion, who sailed over an apple cart as they rounded the first turn, landing a yard or two ahead of the Exalt.

Somehow or other, they managed to avoid colliding with each other as they raced. Once or twice, Justin caught a flicker of movement as a beggar hastily shrank out of their way, and he also saw the occasional Guard watching open-mouthed as they flashed past, but for the most part the streets were empty, which was good. He wasn't at all sure he would be able to stop if anyone got in his way.

The street narrowed further, and Justin heard the Companion beginning to labor for breath. But his own breath was coming hard—his charms aimed for speed, not endurance. Though already he had set a pace that would kill a mortal. Now they were competing for space in the narrowing streets, actually brushing up against each other as they scrambled. They were slowing a bit, too, though still neck-and-neck, and Justin thought he caught a slight break in the rhythm of the Companion's hooves.

The end of the race was signaled by Exile's Gate looming out of the darkness. One of the exits in the walls around Haven, it was too tall for either to jump, and this time of night was closed and well guarded. In fact, Justin saw the face of one of the guards blanch as the competitors raced silently toward the gate. Justin could only imagine how they must appear—the spirit-steed racing riderless, its chiming hooves striking sparks from the street, and himself wrapped in his shadowy anima. He couldn't fault the boy for raising his crossbow with shaking hands.

The bolt missed, clattering to the street behind them, just as Justin made a final leap forward and laid his palm against the gate. Panting, he looked over to see the Companion's nose also touching the iron-barred oak. Its sides heaved as it sank to the ground. As he sat as well, Justin overheard the guard's superior bawling him out.

"…shooting at a Companion! Are you mad, boy? Don't you know that's assault?"

"I'm sorry, sir," the boy gulped. "It's just—they seemed to come out of nowhere—like ghosts."

Justin couldn't help chuckling, and both guards turned to look at him. The older one hesitated a moment, then unhooked the canteen from his belt. He handed it carefully to Justin, who took it, nodding his thanks to the guardsman. He drank eagerly of the faintly metallic-tasting water. He looked over to see the younger guard fill a nearby bucket and place it before the Companion.

_:Well, that was certainly…athletic._

The voice in his head was distinctly male, and very amused.

"Yeah," Justin muttered, taking another swig from the canteen before handing it back to the guard. "Thanks, I needed that."

_:You're quite welcome._ The Companion lifted its head from the bucket, and shook its great body, sending frothy droplets of sweat everywhere. _:Would that all desires were so easily satisfied._

Carefully, Justin stretched, ignoring the looks of the guardsmen as the concealing shadows about him began to unravel. "What's the fastest way back to the Palace?" he asked in Valdemaran.

The Companion chuckled inside his head as the guards struggled to come up with an answer.

_:I'll guide you back, of course,_ he said. _:But really, you shouldn't—_

Justin's nerves suddenly tingled with preternatural awareness, and he whirled to see the younger guard's eyes glowing an evil green as he raised his crossbow, not to Justin, but to the older guard. Justin instinctively sprang forward—and bounced off of an invisible wall of force, barely avoiding landing in the snow, as the guard fell with a gurgling cry, his hand wrapped convulsively around the bolt in his gut.

Moving with the blinding speed only an exalt can manage, Justin hardened his fists and punched the barrier twice as the remaining guard reloaded his crossbow. Bones cracked in the exalt's fists; the barrier was resisting him, transferring a great deal of the force directed at it back to Justin. He shouted to the Companion, "Run!"

The beast obeyed, whirling on his haunches and sprinting away. But the race had winded him, and as Justin burned essence recklessly, summoning all of his protections as well as his most destructive charms, the bowstring twanged again. The Companion screamed as it fell, transfixed by the bolt through his neck.

The barrier shattered, and Justin paid the price for his freedom in shattered bones and torn muscles. But he did not pause, surging forward to rip the nemissary from the body it had stolen.

The evil spirit, far more intelligent and powerful than the mindless hungry ghosts, saw its danger and tried to flee, leaving the guard's body crumpled in the dirty snow. But Justin tore at it, using the Ghost-Eating Technique that all such spirits hated and feared, absorbing the ghost's pale essence and utterly annihilating it.

Panting more from pain and fury than exertion, Justin paused to take stock. He had inflicted a great deal of damage on himself breaking free of the shell that had trapped him, and his anima burned soundlessly, the cobra spreading its pale hood high over the nearest tenements and concealing his body in darkly burning shadows. Gritting his teeth, Justin pushed the pain aside, summoned the lightning speed his charms granted, and headed back toward the Palace.

Kat pulled a warm robe about her shoulders and wandered into the living area of the little suite of rooms. A gray-clad Trainee dozed on the comfortable couch; he came awake instantly as she entered.

"May I get you anything, lady?" he asked.

Kat smiled. "Would you light the lamp, please Jonas?" she asked. "I'm a little restless, and I think I'd like to work on my needlework."

"Yes, ma'am," he responded, and in a moment the room was lit with the warm clear light of oil lamps, easier on the eyes than firelight, even if the fish oil the Valdemarans used for fuel made one want to sneeze. Kat retrieved her embroidery hoop and was heading for a comfortable chair near the fire when suddenly her progress was impeded. Frowning, she reached out and felt…nothing. But her hand would not reach beyond a certain point.

"Lady, what's wrong?" Jonas asked.

"I don't know," Kat replied. "Have you any gift of sorcery?"

"Me?" The lad's eyes grew wide. "You mean the Mage-Gift? No, lady, I'm a Mindspeaker."

"Well, go find someone who does. Elspeth, or Darkwind. Now!"

At her command, the boy whirled and scampered out of the room, leaving Kat to contemplate her predicament. She threw one of her little fans at the wall—and it crumpled and fell to the ground like the toy it really was.

_So that's the way of it,_ she thought. _Very well, then…_

The Dreaming Pearl Courtesan Style was not the most powerful of martial arts in Creation. It lacked the sheer ferocity of the Tiger Style, and the power of the Snake Style. But what it lacked in destructive power it more than made up for in esoteric subtlety. Faced with such a barrier, Kat concentrated for a moment, then exhaled slowly. Pastel vapors swirled from between her lips and wrapped her in their tendrils. Her robe and gown whipped about her in a sudden unseen maelstrom as her body became a vortex of golden light. There was a flash, unseen by anyone, and then the room was empty.

She reappeared in the corridor some fifteen yards from the door to her suite. Two figures in guard blue appeared at the opposite end. Kat began heading toward them, but one aimed his crossbow in her direction while the other drew his sword and advanced cautiously. Kat's clothes sparkled with gold dust and the hem of her robe swirled in a phantom breeze. She raised her arm, deflecting the missile with her trailing sleeve, and frowned angrily.

"What is the meaning of this?" she cried in Valdemaran.

The answer came, not in Valdemaran, but in the High Realm tongue of her own Creation.

"You think you know what you face," said the one with the sword as he advanced. Kat could see now that his eyes glowed with an eerie green light. "You are as ignorant as you are foolish."

Unwilling to show her surprise, Kat raised an eyebrow mockingly. "Is that so?" she said. Again she whipped the trailing sleeve of her robe, snagging the blade from his hand even as she dodged the second bolt that buzzed toward her. The sword clattered to the floor, well out of her opponent's reach. "But your master's trap could not hold me, and the stolen bodies you wear will never touch me." Taking a chance that these spirits, more intelligent than the hungry ghosts they had faced so far, might still be vulnerable to her enchantments, Kat whirled fluidly. Fragrant petals poured out of her wide sleeves, filling the air with a heady and intoxicating perfume as they defied gravity to dance around her. Essence exploded about her, forming butterflies patterned in lavender and gray and palest gold, mingling with the petals and adding to the supernatural beauty of the display as ethereal music echoed through the air.

"Now," Kat said as she continued to dance, " tell me: Who is your master?"

"The Lord of Weeping Gems commands us," the ghost said. Its borrowed senses were overwhelmed by the power of Kat's charm. Down the hall, the other nemissary shouted as it prepared to fire again, but Kat ignored him for the moment, concentrating instead on the enraptured spirit before her.

"But he is not a kind master is he?" Kat crooned sweetly.

"There is no kindness in him." The ghost intoned.

Kat idly snapped the third bolt out of the air, noting with pleasure that the nemissary had drawn a sword and was charging toward her. "Nor is he as beautiful as I am."

"No," it replied. The second nemissary had now come within range of Kat's enchantment, and stood suddenly rooted to the spot, its sword sagging in its grip.

"Wouldn't you rather serve me?" she asked

The nemissaries' eyes glowed more intensely. "Yes, mistress!" they hissed.

Still affecting the fluid sensual dance, Kat asked, "Why have you come here tonight?"

"To sow death, panic, and discord. To bring more souls to Oblivion. To weaken the mortals before our master and his partner can bring their plan to fruition."

Partner? "Who is your master's partner?" she asked.

"The _akuma_. The sorcerer and demon-caller."

"What is their plan?"

"We do not know."

"Then, pick up your swords," Kat commanded. "And follow me!"

Within the Palace halls, all was confusion. Somewhere, a bell had begun to toll with deep sobbing notes, as if the iron wept for grief. Servants and nobles ran through the hall, trying to escape death at the hands of ghosts wearing the faces and bodies of those sworn to protect. Bodies lay here and there, testament to those who had not escaped. Some were dead, others merely wounded, and the corridors were filled with a cacophony of voices crying for mercy, aid, and revenge.

The timing of this attack, Kat thought as she danced accompanied by her enslaved companions, could not have been better. She had deliberately suppressed the shadows that normally marked all night caste, the better to display the kata that she had used to ensnare the nemissaries. Through the halls she danced, seeking out the combatants. The power of her charm proved greater than the will of all she encountered, except for a few of the Heralds, and one after another they fell under her spell. The mortals she released, instructing them to seek aid, and they stumbled away with glazed eyes. The nemessaries she kept, and they followed her, until she found herself outside the doors that led to the Royal Quarters.

The guards at the gate were possessed; Justin relieved them of that state and kept running. The bell that had begun to toll grated on his nerves. It was difficult to put away the urge that it evoked to rage and weep for grief, but he allowed that stillness to enfold him, the cold calm that knows no sorrow, no rage, no love or fear, but only the target and the path to it.

As they had in the streets, people shrank out of his way as he ran. He knew he was a fearsome sight, and had he been capable of feeling, he might have regretted further frightening those who did not deserve it.

The door to his suite was open; he burst in to find Jonas standing determined guard over a wailing Jessamin. The boy's eyes widened as he saw the exalt in his full glory, but he paused in the act of raising his sword. "S…sir! Your lady was here, but I don't know where she went," he babbled. "Darkwind and Elspeth are trapped somehow, your lady was too, but she escaped…"

Justin nodded. "Guard here," he said shortly. "Run if you must. Don't get stupid."

The boy gulped and nodded, and Justin ran back into the hall. He strained his ears and caught the sound of battle, overlaid with an eerie, haunting music. He sprinted in that direction, charms ready.

Kat halted her advance when she saw the hulking black shapes that crouched before the Royal Quarters, though she did not stop dancing. They reminded her somewhat of the erymanthoi, the "blood apes" that were often summoned to kill, for their love of battle and bloodshed. They had a similar outline, but their coarse coats were coal black instead of dark red, their brutish heads were crowned with short curved horns like a bull's, and sharp yellow tusks protruded from their lower jaws. Several shredded bodies already lay at their feet.

Kat told her nemessaries, "Kill the demons."

The evil spirits lifted their swords and advanced, eager for battle. Still Kat continued her kata, knowing that her control would last only as long as her dance, and not wanting to face a dozen ghosts and two demons bent on killing her. And then out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed the display of midnight shadows that heralded Justin's arrival.

"Justin!" Kat's voice caught his attention, and he halted, studying the strange tableau. A dozen assorted bodies, all with eyes glowing green, swarmed over a pair of demons that resembled the vicious blood apes of his own Creation. Kat whirled nearby, surrounded by the shimmering butterflies and flower petals spun from essence. "You destroy the ghosts," she cried. "I'll take the demons!"

Justin waited until the first of the nemissaries abandoned its stolen body and went to look for a less battered vessel before he darted in and rent it asunder. As Kat stopped dancing and withdrew slightly, the remaining nemissaries halted, uncertain. But the enchantment was slow to fade, and their confusion brought only the swift dismemberment of their bodies, followed by utter destruction at Justin's hands.

Meanwhile, Kat closed her eyes and reached deep into the power of the minds around her, into their fondest hopes, their greatest fears. All of their dreams were laid bare before her, and in that moment she abandoned her mortal form and invoked the ultimate expression of her art.

The Guards and Heralds who had gathered in futile hope of defending their monarch fell back as Kat's form wavered, then began to grow. Her clothes melted into the ether, and the shimmering gold dust that had covered them solidified into scales of gold-veined pearl that covered the graceful serpentine creature that now floated in the corridor. In between the scales, hundreds of blue eyes blinked demurely, and it cried out in a voice like harp strings and flutes as it surged forward. Nimbly avoiding Justin's twisting, leaping body it slammed into the howling demons, slashing with its five pairs of carp fins. Their claws scrabbled futilely at the gorgeous scales as the chimera attacked mercilessly, until the stinking ichor that served them in lieu of blood stained the marble floor and their bodies were recalled to whatever dark abyss that had spawned them.

_That's my girl,_thought Justin as he dispatched the last of the fleeing ghosts.

Heralds and Guards were still converging on the scene. Justin saw them look at the bodies, and at him and Kat, and draw the only conclusion they could. But they were wary of the chimera, and of Justin's obvious display of magic, and so rather than immediately attack, they simply surrounded the pair as well as they were able.

Justin remained very still. He was tired, and angry, and hurt, and he really didn't want to fight these people. The chimera twitched and curled beside him and around him, coiling and uncoiling its twenty-five foot length as it floated on the restless currents of air and dreams. The bell gave a final clang and stopped, the last notes echoing through the halls before dying away completely, and some of the pressure in his head and heart eased. But he could tell from the grim expressions on the guards' white faces that it would not be much longer before training overcame fear, and then they would attack.

"Arrest them!"

The anonymous command overcame the soldier's hesitation, and they rushed forward en masse. But Justin was faster, and in an eye blink, he had seized the arm of the nearest white-clad figure and pulled her in front of him like a shield. One arm went across her throat with a warning pressure as he warned, "Stop! Or I will break her neck."

The Herald made a strangled squeak as the guards tumbled to a halt.

"Look at the bodies," Justin commanded. "I didn't kill them. They've been dead for days."

"He's right," a calm familiar voice said. Justin looked, and saw the priest Karal, accompanied by that cat, kneeling next to one of the guards that had been possessed. "And there is something else…" He raised his blind gaze to Justin. "Their bodies were defiled, possessed somehow. But the taint has been cleansed. Did you do that?"

Justin nodded cautiously, not releasing his hostage just yet. "I did. I destroyed the possessing spirits."

"How do we know he's telling the truth?" someone asked.

"Easily enough."

Talia pushed through the mob, radiating calm authority. Justin could sense her, firm and solid as the earth beneath his feet, and found himself reassured by her presence. She looked at Justin and Kat, and at the guards and Heralds. "There is always the Truth Spell," she said.

Truth Spell. The words seemed to release some of the tension among the gathered crowd. Talia turned to face Justin. "If you will release Herald Destria," she said, "I promise as Queen's Own that no harm will come to you until after we have discovered the truth. Hopefully," she added with a wry twist of her mouth, "not even then."

Justin glanced up at Kat. She nodded her head, whispering in her musical voice, **She speaks true**.

Justin nodded and released the Herald, who stumbled to Talia's side, rubbing her throat nervously. To Kat, he said, "I think you'd best change back."

She described a slow, graceful somersault in the air. **I don't want to.**

"Please, love," he whispered desperately. "I need you."

The great golden chimera shuddered, reluctant to leave the ecstatic bliss that came with the Dreaming. But a moment later, with a sigh of regret, her form shimmered. Excess essence drifted away in a flock of butterflies, and Kat stood again beside him, calm and beautiful and quite human, though a touch of something fey still lingered in her eyes.

A murmur of awe and fear went through the gathered crowd, but Talia ignored it, staring fixedly at the exalts. Suddenly a blue glow surrounded them, mingling with their animas, and Justin felt an odd sensation, like a light touch inside his head. His spirit-sight was still active, and Justin found himself staring into the curious blue eyes of a small elemental, that looked just like a fluffy white cloud.

__It asked.

Justin became aware that Talia had asked a question. "I killed no one," he asserted. "I destroyed fifteen nemissaries and one magical barrier of some kind."

The glow did not flicker, and the elemental turned its attention to Kat with a mental giggle.

"I can not destroy ghosts," Kat said. "So I enthralled them, to control them until Justin could arrive. I did destroy the two demons that had been placed here. I harmed no-one mortal."

Again, the glow remained steady, until Talia dismissed the elemental. It disappeared with a friendly mental caress and another giggle.

"As queen's Own," she said formally, "I declare the envoys innocent of any involvement."

"Witnessed," replied several voices, Herald Destria's among them.

Justin relaxed marginally, ready to slip back to his own quarters to rest. There was a limit to how long he could ignore pain, and his injuries were beginning to hurt in a way that it wasn't safe to ignore. He was going to do himself more damage if he didn't rest soon.

But he stiffened again as he heard a cry of rage and pain from beyond the double doors, and the hurried sounds of running feet. He stepped aside as the doors burst open, and Queen Selenay, followed closely by her consort Prince Darren, rushed out.

The queen's face was white and drawn as she rushed to Talia, grabbing the Herald by her shoulders.

"They're gone!" she babbled, gripping Talia desperately.

"Who?"

"Lyra!" The Queen nearly shouted the name. "And Kris. My children—they're gone!"


	5. Chapter 5

**Old Friends and New Foes**

_A/N: As usual, I own nothing and am making no money on this. Mercedes Lackey owns Velgarth; White Wolf owns the Exalted 'verse. As for individual characters, Justin is Dave's, and Silver Feathers belongs to Matt. Shiarra and Katriana are mine._**  
**

**Interlude--the Forest Refuge **

"He's not dead. I would know if he were."

The speaker was a tall pale man whose skin was decorated with swirling silver tattoos. Long silver hair brushed his shoulders, his massive argent wings fluttered restlessly, and his handsome face was set in a furious scowl.

Shiarra brushed her vivid copper hair away from her face and regarded her husband steadily. "No, he's not dead," she agreed. "But I can't find him. I've been to the Underworld and to Yu Shan and he is not there," she said, referring to the dwelling places of the dead and of the gods. "I've called up demons from Malfeas, and he is not there, either."

"You must find him!" Silver Feathers insisted.

"What do you think I've been doing this entire week?" Shiarra exploded with frustration. "He's my brother, too! He and his wife were snatched from right under my nose. Don't you think I've been doing everything in my power to get them back?"

Silver Feathers checked his anger. "I-I know you have," he admitted, drawing her into the circle of his arms. "But his absence—it leaves a hole in my soul, Shiarra."

It cost him to admit that, she knew. Luna's children were Chosen for their ability to survive, at whatever cost, and for Silver Feathers to admit a weakness of any sort was a testament to his love and trust of his wife. Shiarra, for all her command of sorcery and magic, was still unclear about the nature of the bond between Solar and Lunar. She had seen it before, ranging in intensity from the solid bond of brothers to a passionate and fervent adoration to utter hatred. Regardless of what form it took, it endured over many lifetimes, unbroken even by the death of one or the other. Silver Feathers loved her, she knew, but his bond with Justin was just as strong.

Well, she thought as she returned his embrace, she felt Justin's absence just as keenly. He was her Circlemate, the brother of her heart if not of her blood. How many times had they risked their lives together, for each other, for the world they both loved? From the moment they had met, proud princess and sneaky street urchin, they had pushed and prodded each other, forcing each other to face their fears and overcome them. He had taught her how to stand alone. She had taught him how to be part of a group. Both had managed to retain their sanity, to grow in power and wisdom over the years, with the help of the other. Their Circle was a wide one, with many proud to call themselves a part of it, but she and Justin were its heart, and she missed him with every breath.

She would not give up until he was home safely.

**Valdemar **

Justin stood in the Royal Nursery. The large room was lined with shelves and cabinets, displaying hundreds of toys and books. Miniature forts and villages, complete with tiny inhabitants—toy Companions in full panoply—rows of tiny uniformed soldiers standing in strict formation. Two doors opened up from the main playroom—the bedrooms where the children slept.

Talia had wisely forbidden anyone to disturb anything while she turned her weeping queen over to the Healers. One of the Healers, a stern man in a patched and stained green tunic, had taken a look at Justin and shaken his head. Ignoring both Justin's protests and the lingering shadows of his anima, the Healer had laid both of his hands on Justin's shoulders.

"One would think you were a Herald, the way you've abused yourself tonight," he said disapprovingly. "Now brace yourself."

Justin had barely had time to gasp with the searing grinding pain as shattered bones and torn flesh had been forced into their proper alignments and begun the process of knitting back together.

With the next breath the pain had passed completely, and Justin had reeled under a wave of exhaustion.

"There," said the Healer, and he fixed Justin with a stern eye. "Now, you should rest. I know you won't, but you should, as soon as possible."

"I will," Justin heard himself promise. "As soon as I can."

But not yet. As he waited in a fog of exhaustion, Katriana put her hand on his shoulder. "I just spoke to Jonas," she told him softly. "Jessamin is still safe."

He nodded. "There's a charm," he told her in Riverspeak, too tired to attempt Valdemaran. "The Crafty Observation Method."

She smiled. "Yes, I know that one," she said. "Together, then?"

Another whisper of Essence from both of them, and they glanced about the room, absorbing the most important details in seconds. Immediately, two sets of boot prints near the window stood out to their enhanced perception. Justin knelt to touch the fine ashy soil.

"This isn't native," he said. He looked, and saw that the larger set of prints led to the room on the left, while the smaller went to the right. "I'll go left," he told Kat.

She nodded and they separated. Talia trailed after Justin at a discreet distance. "This is Kris' room," she said.

A small oil lamp in the shape of a comical, roly-poly dragon burned with a dim yellow flame. The boot prints went right up to the bed. _A big man_, Justin thought, _judging from the size of his feet and the length of his stride_. Big enough to simply grab a sleeping child with no problem.

Justin examined the bed, and saw no evidence of injury. But he caught the smell of fear, mingled with a familiar combination of myrrh and attar of lilies. "Tamar," he muttered, and Talia shuddered as she saw his eyes go flat and hard and cold as ice.

A final detail caught his eye as he traced the prints back out to the playroom—a single strand of fine black silk caught on the wood of the doorframe.

He met Kat back in the playroom, near where the prints originated.

"I think the girl woke up and struggled," she said, displaying a few strands of long dark hair mingled with golden. "He subdued her, and wrapped her in a blanket to keep her quiet."

Justin nodded. "They split up, each one grabbed a child, then met back here." He knelt again, and plucked a strand of golden hair from the carpet. "The smaller one laid the girl here while he did something." He looked up at Kat. "He's the sorcerer. Whatever he did, is how they got away."

He stood up, pausing a moment as dizziness threatened to overwhelm him. "But it doesn't matter," he told her fiercely. "I know who they are, Kat."

She gazed at him soberly. "One of the nemessaries gave me a title," she offered.

"The Lord of Weeping Gems." Justin nodded. "And the other would be his lover, Tsuki." He blinked as his vision began to waver, than blur. "Kat," he said carefully, "I think I need to lay down now."

The last thing he was conscious of as he slid into unconsciousness was of her soft arms sliding around him, catching him before he could fall.

Katriana smoothed Justin's hair back from his face and tucked the sheets around him. He was sleeping—_only_ sleeping; she had made sure of that. Talia had explained that the Healing which had repaired his hurts had drained his energy, and he would sleep for several hours now. Others were resting, too; Talia had insisted, despite the urging of many Heralds and Council members to ride out immediately in search of Valdemar's heirs.

"_A few hours will make no difference in the end, except to send us out ill rested, ill informed, and ill prepared,"_ she had said.

Kat had agreed completely. Now she turned to the cradle and gathered Jessamin to her breast. The baby whimpered and clutched at her robe as Kat brushed her lips over the cap of soft dark hair.

_My little love, _she thought, trembling with relief. _They do not know of you, or Jonas could not have stopped them taking you, too._ Kat was not the most compassionate of women, but motherhood had given her a measure of empathy for what the queen must be enduring right now. _If I could but send you back home, to my own Creation; Shiarra would care for you as if you were her own, and I would be free of one worry. You would grow up knowing Kazhir and Dunuzial as your brother and sister…_

_But I cannot, and soon I must leave you, my little love, my baby, my child, for Justin will not stop until he has confronted this deathknight and his lover. And I will go with him. How could I let him fight alone? I cannot, even though it hurts me to leave you. He might be able to defeat them without me; then again, he might not, and if he fell, and I was not there, I would never forgive myself, not in ten lifetimes…_

Kat rocked, and nursed her daughter, and watched over her husband. When the baby's hunger was satisfied, Kat laid her back in the cradle, then stretched, disrobed, and slid beneath the sheets. Justin stirred as she brushed against him. Kat snuggled against him, draping an arm across his chest. Still asleep, his hand groped for hers. When he found it, he sighed once, and was still again. Kat smiled at the gesture, and fell asleep herself.

It was a grim council that gathered early that morning. The Queen and Consort were both there, dry-eyed and pale. Elspeth and Darkwind had finally put in an appearance; Justin thought that despite Talia's orders last night, they didn't look as if they'd had any rest at all. Both were still looking slightly singed and absolutely furious. An'desha and Karal sat quietly. Next to them was a blond woman with a tanned and weathered complexion. She wore neither Herald's White nor Guard Blue, but a set of dusty brown leathers that were as much armor as clothing. And of course Talia was there, exerting her soothing influence to control the fear and anger that were palpable in the conference room.

"Justin, Kat," Talia said, indicating the woman. "This is Herald-Captain Kerowyn. Aside from being a Herald, she's Captain of a mercenary company, the Skybolts, and our chief advisor on tactics and, er, intelligence."

"Spying, you mean," Kerowyn said bluntly. She caught Kat's sideways glance and snorted. "Oh, I'm a Herald all right. But you'll never catch me in one of those uniforms. Might as well paint a target on your chest and say, 'Please, shoot me now!'"

Justin decided right then that he liked her.

"The attack last night was obviously well planned," Kerowyn continued. "We have no idea how long these—what did you call them? Oh, nemissaries—have been lurking. We identified most of the bodies they were using. A lot of 'em weren't even guards—but people tend not to look past the uniform, and the mages—" here she glanced at Darkwind and Elspeth—"suspect that there was some sort of glamour laid over them. Something subtle, that just sort of helped them blend in better."

"The first death last night was Herald Alberich's," she continued, and everyone at the table looked stricken. "That was likely deliberate as well—his Gift, as you know, was Foresight."

"But we have other Foreseers," Elspeth burst out. "Why target him?"

"Because Alberich's Gift never worked unless it was something he could personally act upon," Selenay said hoarsely, and Elspeth looked at her mother in surprise. "He—I saw it several times during the Tedrel Wars. And he was the Collegium Weaponsmaster, Elspeth. If he had Seen something, he _would_ have done something. And they didn't want that."

Elspeth nodded unhappily, and Talia picked up the conversation. "Now, who is_they_?" she asked. "What did you find out last night?"

Justin steeled himself. "The deathknight is known as the Lord of Weeping Gems," he said. "He—I called him a friend, once upon a time. Before he betrayed the Unconquered Sun, he was a night caste like me, called Tamar Denarious. I fought with him then, and against him afterwards, many times. I know him well."

"But there is a bigger threat. Tamar had a lover, Tsuki. When Tamar became the Weeping Lord, Tsuki was desperate to find a way to reverse what had happened. He was a twilight caste, a sorcerer, and he went looking for some hidden knowledge, some new spell, anything to take back the Black Exaltation. He—his search led him to Malfeas, where the Yozis are imprisoned."

Justin struggled for words. "The word 'demon'—doesn't even begin to describe the Yozis. I told you the Exalted were created when the gods overthrew their creators…the Yozis are what is left of those beings. Once they were not necessarily evil, just… different. Immensely powerful, with an incomprehensible perspective. But their long confinement has changed them, and they are broken, insane with the desire to escape their prison."

"I don't know what the Yozis offered Tsuki, what they promised him. But he's become one of their agents. We call them, _akuma_. There's not a word for it in Valdemaran—'demon-prince' is the closest I can come. He came here with Tamar, or Tamar came with him. Separately, they're cunning and dangerous. Together—" Justin shook his head, and Selenay interrupted him.

"My children," she asked desperately. "What does he want with my children?"

"The Yozis and the Deathlords are twisted and broken," Justin told her quietly. "They, and their servants delight in twisting and breaking others. They want your kingdom, your world. Your children are Gifted, yes?" At Selenay's nod, he continued ruthlessly. "They will hold them, and break them, and make of them swords with which to strike you down."

The faces around the table were grim. Selenay looked as if she might actually faint, and Elspeth was not much better. But it was An'desha's reaction that surprised Justin the most. The young man stood, his face a mask of fury, and drew his dagger, and slammed the point into the table with such force that half the length of the blade was buried in the polished oak planks.

His eyes met Justin's, and the pale yellow-green seemed to hold an incandescent flame, and the slit pupils were wide.

"_No!_" he said in his careful Valdemaran. "For centuries, we have suffered the depredations of Ma'ar and all of his incarnations. We finally rid ourselves of the monster, and now we have another to take his place?" His hands and voice shook with his anger.

"_I_ know how Ma'ar twisted the minds of those around him, and by the Star-Eyed, I _will not_ let it happen again, to anyone, ever!"

Karal rose, and laid his hand over An'desha's where it rested on the hilt of the knife. "Nor I, my friend." He turned his head toward Justin and Kat, and that cat of his began to rumble loudly. "I said before that you were the answer to a prayer. But though we trust in our gods and their agents, that does not mean that you will be alone. We will give you all the aid we can."

Something was building, a strange humming tension that made the hairs on the back of Justin's neck stand up. It didn't feel dangerous; rather, it seemed to banish the strains of last day, leaving him restless and energized. The cat's purr grew louder as Justin took Kat's hand in his, and laid his free hand over the priests'.

"We were Chosen to bring the light of the Sun to the dark places of the world," he said. "We will find the deathknight and the _akuma_, and we will deliver the innocents from their hands."

"And by the Light of the Sun," he vowed, "they will _not _escape Justice!"

The tension broke with a nearly audible _snap_. A thread of music echoed in Justin's ears as a warm yellow glow emanated from their joined hands. It bathed the whole room in summer sunshine as that thread of half-heard music built into the laugh of the Star-eyed Lady. Then, light and music both began to ebb, leaving behind a renewed sense of hope. Selenay and Darren blinked in astonishment. Kerowyn, Elspeth and Darkwind looked remarkably like they'd just been hit with a board. On An'desha and Karal's faces, Justin saw only the same determination he felt.

Kerowyn recovered with admirable speed. "Well," she said dryly, "that seemed clear enough. Now, let's decide how exactly we're going to bring justice to the offenders, shall we?"

In the end, it was decided that Justin and Kat would go with Karal and An'desha. Elspeth wanted to go as well, but Talia and Selenay both objected, pointing out that until the twins were returned, Elspeth was her mother's de facto heir. When Kerowyn asked where, in fact, they were going, it was Darkwind who answered.

"All magic leaves traces," he said. "There were several powerful spells worked here last night—the one that trapped me and Elspeth and others, the one they used to get into the Palace, and the one they used to escape. The traces are clear enough to me—and I've already traced them." The mage looked at Justin. "Burning Pines," he said. "That's where they are."

"I'll Gate you there," said Elspeth quietly. "I can do that much."

"And I'll mobilize the Skybolts," Kerowyn said. "They're only a day or two away from Burning Pines. That'll give you four time to prepare."

"No!" Selenay wailed. "We can't wait that long!"

"We can," Justin said. "And we _will_." When Selenay looked as if she would protest again, Justin stood and loomed over her, keeping his face utterly impassive.

"Majesty," he said quietly but forcefully, "believe me when I tell you that the danger to your children will be far greater if we leave without adequate preparation. I have made that mistake before. I will not make it again."

He paused, and allowed his face to show something of the torment that mistake had cost him. "If I had taken even an hour to do things properly, I could have saved my sister nine days of torture, a month of hell, and the year of healing afterwards. If you want your children back with whole minds, you will listen to me, and not try to rush this."

Both Darren and Talia reached for the Queen's hands. "He's right," Darren said hoarsely. "I know, they're mine, I love them too, but we must do this right…"

He was weeping now, and so was Selenay; Talia rose and escorted them both out of the room. "Do what you need to do," she said as she left. "Consider yourself to have the Crown's approval."

"What more _do_ we need to do?" An'desha asked.

"For one thing," Justin said, "you should replenish your essence as completely as possible. If Burning Pines is a Shadowland now, it will be difficult, if not impossible, to use the essence there. If there are any protections you can put up in advance, do so now."

"I've thought of something else," Kerowyn said. "What if we make a feint at his border? I can get a bunch of the Skybolts all duded up in white, like Heralds—I'd be willing to gamble that this _akuma_ knows enough about us now to that if he sees what looks like a million Heralds anywhere close to him, he'll watch 'em like a hawk." She actually grinned at the thought. "I've even still got the fake 'war engine' we put together for our campaign against Ancar—we'll set that up, and let him capture it. He'll go nuts trying to figure out how it works."

"He'll suspect a trap," Justin warned.

"Probably. But he can't afford to ignore a threat. And it _will_ be a threat. They may not be real Heralds, but they will be real soldiers, and I'll do any damage I can to him."

"I understand," Justin said. "But be careful. Every death in or near a Shadowland only makes it stronger. Do what you can, but don't let your fallen soldiers add to his power."

Kerowyn's eyes narrowed as she thought. Finally she nodded her head. "Huh. I see what you mean. All right, then. Anything else?"

Justin looked at Karal and An'desha. It was Karal who answered, stroking the creamy fur of his feline companion.

"Pray."


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: All of the above disclaimers still apply. Last chapter. folks! Hope you've enjoyed it._**  
**

**Interlude—the Forest Refuge  
**

"What do you mean!?"

Shiarra stood within the magic circle drawn with the point of a knife in the turf of the Forest Refuge's Hearthstone chamber. Brilliant essence played around her, all the colors of the sunset, as she confronted the spirit that had interrupted her spell.

"Patterns must be worked out carefully, little Copper Spider," said the messenger. "There is a method to this apparent madness. Tamper with the pattern that has been laid, and you stand to lose your brother forever. Leave it be, and you may well not only see him again, but find yourself rid of a threat to your own Creation."

Shiarra yanked one of her own braids in frustration. "Can you at least tell me where he is?" she exclaimed. "Is he well? What danger does he face?"

The spirit smiled—at least Shiarra had the impression it did. It was difficult to tell with a being that seemed half formed of dream and half of shade. "A brief window only," it said, and waved a hand. The air between it and Shiarra rippled, and then firmed. Shiarra gasped as she saw her brother and his wife bundled in winter cloaks and standing at the edge of a wasteland. Two other young men were with them, one in black robes, the other in a dark blue tunic and fringed leggings. The sorcerer leaned forward to get a better look…

**Burning Pines**

"Let's go," Justin said.

They stood at the edge of a barren gray plain. The contrast between the sleeping winter land and the dead Shadowland was obvious and startling. Brown weeds and grass gave way abruptly to fine gray soil like ashes. Nothing grew there—not a single stunted tree or blade of grass. The monotony was broken by jagged rocks, the bare skeleton of the mountains which rose up on either side of a rugged narrow pass.

"Ugh," said An'desha quietly. "You were right about the energies here. I could not use them without great harm to myself, if at all."

"We have legends about this place," Karal murmured, hefting his knapsack. With no idea of how far into the Shadowland they would have to travel, they had elected to bring a day's worth of food with them. "Lavan Firestorm…he was a hero to the Valdemarans—you can imagine what we must have called him in Karse."

"What happened here?" Justin was appalled at the sheer destruction. "How long has it been like this?"

"It was perhaps a hundred years ago," Karal replied. "The Karsite armies chose this pass to make a push into Valdemar. There was a Herald by the named of Lavan Firestorm whose Gift was Firestarting. He was said to be able to pull flame from the very air itself, and he used this to great effect against the Karsites."

"Someone realized that a Herald's greatest strength is also his greatest weakness, and sent an assassin not after Lavan, but his Companion. The results were…not what they had anticipated. According to the Chronicles of both countries, Lavan went berserk. There's a note in the Valdemaran Chronicles about him being lifebonded to his Companion…but for whatever reason, he lost, or gave up, all control over his Gift. He sent wave after wave of fire after the invaders, and finally brought down a storm of such magnitude that it consumed not only himself, but burned the land to a cinder. Nothing grows at Burning Pines to this day—with one exception." Karal raised his hand to point at a spot high on the side of the pass. Justin squinted, and realized that a single twisted tree stood there, somehow clinging to life in this barren place. "Legends on both sides state that the fire pine seedling was found there after the final battle, and that the single tree has persisted ever since."

"Why that one tree?" Kat wondered aloud.

Karal turned his head to Kat, and once again Justin found it hard to remember that the priest was blind. "I like to think of it as a symbol of strength and hope," Karal said. "Vkandis is the god of fire as well as the sun, and fire pines need the intense heat of a fire to release their seeds. They need adversity to survive. And though that day was one of the bloodiest in the history of our two countries, Karse and Valdemar are now allies, even friends."

They trudged forward. Justin was familiar with the sensation of stepping into a Shadowland, but he still didn't find it comfortable. It sent a sort of cramped ache through his muscles and always made him feel vaguely ill. From the looks on their faces, Karal and An'desha were experiencing the same thing. And yet, it wasn't as bad as usual.

_This place…it's fighting him,_ Justin realized. _He's made it a Shadowland, but it's resisting._

They walked for perhaps half the day beneath the slate gray sky. Conversation was low and hushed—something about this place seemed to forbid speech. Oddly enough, it seemed warmer here than out on the foothills, but still the shadowland drained the energy of living beings, and after only an hour Karal and An'desha began to look drawn. Even Altra the cat, trotting beside Karal, began to look haggard.

When the mortals began to flag, they stopped beneath the meager shelter of an overhang. An'desha pulled wood and tinder from his pack, and started a small fire, just big enough to warm chilled bones. After a hasty meal, they extinguished the fire and kept walking.

"Goddess of my mothers," An'desha breathed. "What is _that_?"

"That" was an edifice of smooth black rock, something like onyx or obsidian, rising better than a hundred feet from the bare rock. There were no true windows, but the dying sun on the jagged towers revealed arrow slits in the outer walls and battlements. There was no movement on the walls at all. But more ominous was the seeming forest of short iron stakes that stood between the black castle and them. Justin saw that each iron rod had been driven deep into the rock, and that each bore the gruesome decoration of a human corpse impaled upon it.

Karal and Katriana both shuddered, and the cat hissed with all of its fur standing on end. _:I don't like this,_ Justin heard in his head. _:I don't like this at all._

"Nor do I," replied An'desha. His lips were drawn tight. "I can sense the blood-magic that was used to create this place. Worse yet, the spirits of those sacrificed still linger."

Karal nodded slowly. "This…is worse than Ma'ar…" he said.

An'desha shook his head. "It seems that way to you," he replied. "But remember, I know who Ma'ar was and what he did better than anyone else, and this is what he would have done, if he had had the knowledge. I think we can thank the Star-Eyed that he did not."

"Who is this 'Ma'ar' you speak of?" inquired Katriana.

"He was a mage," An'desha said. "One of the two greatest ever to have lived, a thousand years ago, or perhaps two. He ad a talent for blood-magic, the kind that can be worked by spilling the blood of others and using the energy released by their deaths."

"But his true gift was far more insidious. He was a seducer. Ma'ar's soldiers fought, not because they feared him, but because they _loved_ him. Anyone in his retinue would have taken a death-blow for him. The most intelligent, he would twist in such a way as to let them keep their minds and creativity—but their wills were tied to his. Those so twisted would have stopped breathing before they would have left him for any reason."

Only Kat noticed the expression on Justin's face. "And what happened to this…Ma'ar?" she asked shrewdly. "And how are you such a student of history, that you would know so much about this man who lived so long ago?"

An'desha waited a moment before answering. "I know him, because Ma'ar found a road to immortality," he replied. "By using the energy released by his own death to hide his soul in a pocket of the Void that is between all worlds, and returning when a male descendant of his demonstrated mage-talent by trying to call fire. He would destroy the body's original owner, reshape it to his whims, and thus return with all of his power and knowledge intact."

"He was destroyed," An'desha continued, "some years after he took over the body of a young Shin'a'in halfbreed by the name of An'desha. The boy hid his mind inside Ma'ar's, and was not destroyed, and was able to work from within to finally bring the monster to true death."

Kat nodded, as if she expected such an answer. "Ah," she said. "And because you remember what he did and how he did it, you hope to be able to reverse it if something similar has been done to the children."

"Yes," he confirmed.

But there were more immediate concerns. "Wait here," Justin whispered. Cautiously, he stepped forward, toward the gruesome "forest." All was quiet, but his senses tingled—this could be simply an attempt to frighten the unwary, but Justin had had too much experience with necromancy to trust appearances.

He was nearly within arms length of the nearest—a gray-bearded old man who had died with a scream of terror on his lips—when he heard a sound like rawhide creaking. Justin froze—and the corpse moved.

It moved as so many of the walking dead did, slowly, animated by magic with nothing of its own will left in it. As Justin stepped back it braced its feet against the ground and levered itself upright, pulling the stake out of the ground with the rasp of metal on stone. Slowly, clumsily, it wrapped one withered hand around the stake that protruded from its abdomen and began to pull it out.

Quickly, Justin sped back to where the others waited, horrified. Behind him, he could hear the myriad creaks and rustles as the other corpses began to move.

"How do we stop them?" An'desha asked. He was white around the lips.

Justin looked at Karal. "This is where you come in," he told the priest. "Do what you can. I can hold them off, even stop them, but it will take essence that I cannot spare right now." He looked at An'desha and Kat. "They're slow but persistent. More importantly, they don't feel pain or fear. Fire works well, if you can summon it. If nothing else, cut their limbs off so that they can't chase you, and we'll charge past."

They nodded. An'desha pulled a bundle of sticks from his coat, a bundle that resolved itself into a collapsible bow. Kat shook out her voluminous sleeves and readied her fans. And Karal looked down at his companion, and then closed his eyes and turned his face upward.

As the others stood between him and the shambling horde, Karal looked within himself. The Writ taught that one did not need fancy words, special vestments, or a temple to reach Vkandis. All it took was desire, and the sincere belief that the prayer _would_ be heard. The only requirement was that such a prayer take place under the open sky, and so Karal turned his blind eyes to the shrouded sun.

_Please,_ he thought. _Once again, we need your help, Lord, if there is any you can give us here…_

Stillness descended upon him. Once again, winter's chill was replaced with the warmth of spring, and Karal sighed with peace.

Altra yowled, a peculiar, spine-shivering scream. Karal Looked through the firecat's eyes, and pointed at the nearest zombie. Power shimmered through him, like knives of fire, and the corpse went up in a gout of sudden flame, burning to ash in an eyeblink. Altra reared on his hind legs and struck at another corpse; there was another flash, and this one, too, disintegrated. The other three stood their ground, luring the monsters closer to Karal and Altra. Finally, the last animated corpses were destroyed by the Sunlord's blessing.

"Nice work," Justin congratulated him as they reached the outer wall. "How do you feel?"

"A little tired," Karal admitted.

Justin nodded, and looked speculatively at the edifice before them. The entrance was barred with a heavy portcullis of iron, burning cold to the touch.

"I can get over the wall," he said. "Then I can open the gate for the rest of you."

"I'll go with you," An'desha offered. "I don't think any of us should go alone."

"Keep up," was Justin's only reply.

The charm was called the Spider-foot Style; Justin invoked it now to swarm up the walls. The black stone was slick, but not perfectly smooth; the exalt rested on a ledge and looked back to see An'desha making good progress, digging his talons into minute cracks and hauling himself up swiftly. Justin reached down to help the mage the rest of the way up, and then they peered over the battlements into the courtyard below.

"_Sheka,"_ muttered An'desha.

Justin agreed. The entire courtyard was a maze of cracked and jagged stone. Even he and Kat would have a difficult time avoiding injury on the uneven surface, and in places it looked as if it would have to be climbed. Furthermore, Justin could see…_things_ crawling about the courtyard, clinging to the walls and rocks with sharp claws. They were little more than a pair of strong, clawed legs supporting a maw of sharp teeth as long as his palm, eyeless, but with a pair of moist sensitive nostrils that quivered as they mewled restlessly, searching for prey. A scattering of well-gnawed bones testified to the fact that they had not been going entirely hungry.

"Look." An'desha pointed. "There's the counterweight. If you can get to it, I think I can take care of most of these things."

Justin nodded, then leaped to the first perch. He sensed An'desha following close behind, and leapt again. As the pair made their way to the gates, the hungry monsters lifted their heads and squealed with savage hunger. Justin managed to avoid most of them, but at least two were crushed into the jagged rock as he batted them aside, leaving a smear of thick stinking blood on the slick black stone.

An'desha perched for a moment and fired off three arrows in quick succession. Each found a target, giving the mage the moment he needed to call the lightning to his hands. It burst forth, arching from target to target, and the air was filled with its hiss and crackle, the high keening of the beasts as they writhed and died, the smell of ozone, and the stench of scorched flesh. Justin's skin tingled with the lingering electricity as he threw his weight onto the counterweight. With a grinding rattle, the heavy portcullis lifted.

Kat came through first. Altra followed her with his tail held high, and finally Karal, picking his way carefully over the uneven surface. As they advanced, Justin examined the doorway to the keep itself carefully searching for any traps. Finding none, he signaled to Kat, and they slipped through the empty portal into a long dim hallway lit at long intervals by glowing red lights that had no obvious source.

There were plenty of shadows to hide in, but that might be to their enemies' advantage as well. He glanced at Kat as he finally called on his charms, noting the slight ripple of her cloak hem and the faint golden sparkle that danced over her clothes as she readied her own defenses. They both put the extra effort into masking their animas, not wishing the display to give away their location. _Although I can't imagine he doesn't know we're here._

The hallway branched. Uncertain, he looked at Kat, who shrugged and inquired silently if they should split up. Justin shook his head, unwilling to be separated in this place. An'desha slipped into place behind Justin and pulled something out of his pocket. It seemed to be a strand of blond hair, and the mage held it and concentrated for a moment. A small wisp of blue smoke formed, hovered for a moment, then began to drift slowly down the right-hand hall.

Following their fragile guide, the four hurried down the hall. Justin was nervous—this was far too easy. As the smoke drifted through a large door into a darkened room, Justin's sense of danger suddenly flared, and he halted.

"What is it?" Karal asked.

Altra hissed. _:I smell blood, old and new,_ he said. _:And something else. I don't like it at all._

"I don't hear anything," Justin said. But he smelled the blood—the coppery tang of the fresh-spilled fluid, mingled with the heavy sweet stench of old gore. Even more disturbing was the musky smell of sex that settled like a scarf over the other odors.

"We have to go," An'desha pointed out. "There's no way out but through."

"I'll go first," Justin decided, and stepped through.

With the third step into the room, the lights began to rise, throwing a sanguine glow about a scene of such carnage that Justin felt ill. Bodies littered the floor, some nearly intact, others in many, many pieces, and it was obvious to Justin that they had been hideously used. Cages lines two walls, and each one held a weeping, terrified prisoner. Their mouths opened in frantic screams, but Justin could hear nothing in the magical silence. And on a bloodstained altar, a small slender figure crouched over its latest victim.

It was not Tsuki, unless Ligier had indeed wrought many changes in the sorcerer. But it was beautiful, a slender platinum-haired sylph dressed only in tattered rags that revealed more than they concealed, and the body revealed was an adolescent male's wet dream. It raised huge violet eyes to Justin, and suddenly he felt the unholy attraction of the thing, an attraction that completely transcended gender. Instinctively, he tried to raise his walls of ice—and felt them melt beneath the creature's smile.

"What have we here?" it purred. "Another offering for Thalkarsh?"

Justin backed away as it approached him, raising his fists.

"No," it said. "Not an offering. A _hero_." Its smile grew wider as it licked its lips. "You despise me," it said. "You hate me for what I've done to these poor creatures, don't you? But you don't understand." It gestured, and out of the corner of his eye, Justin saw one of the cages swing open. The weeping girl inside cringed back against the wall.

The demon beckoned, and the girl's cringing ceased. Slowly, as Justin tried to keep an eye on both her and the demon, she crawled from the cage. Justin heard her quiet whimpering. It beckoned again—and the girl ran straight into its arms.

He leaped forward, tried to stand between the two. But Thalkarsh was stronger than it's frail body suggested, and Justin staggered backwards as the demon brushed him aside. "Look at me," it commanded, and though he knew it was folly, Justin couldn't help looking into the depths of those violet eyes.

"This pitiful creature came to me," it said. "And so have you. Would you know why?" it asked hypnotically. "Then look at what I can give you," said the demon in dulcet tones. Its pupils shivered and became a mirror. Justin saw his own face there—but such a face! Subtly altered to a vision of perfection, fit for a god.

_Look at what only I can offer. _The demon's voice echoed through his head as those mirror-pupils widened. _A face and body to match mine, and all you have to do is say "yes."_

Justin watched as women, blushing maidens and worldly matrons, flung themselves at his feet, begging for the touch of his hand or the kiss of his breath. Not only women either, but men, peasants and princes alike, awestruck by his very presence.

_But you want more, don't you?_ Though part of him struggled like a bird in a cage, he was enraptured by the demon's promises. He saw himself now, god-king of the world, of a hundred worlds. He looked down at the heads bowed before him, recognized Shiarra, Silver Feathers, Xiao Shan, all of them wearing identical expressions of adoration. All he had to do was stretch out his hand, and what he wanted, anything he wanted was there. Bloodless conquest, endless delight, a hundred worlds waiting to be led to glory or to ruin, all by one glance of his eyes. And beside him through it all was Thalkarsh.

_Not only glory_, whispered the demon, and now Justin gasped as the visions faded and his body was seized with ecstasy. He fell to his knees as the demon's sweet breath shivered over his skin. _You see now why they come to me willing? They die, yes, but what mortal wouldn't die for such pleasure?_

Indeed, who could resist such power, such pleasure? Yet still he did not,_could_ not, say yes. And then suddenly a laugh as sharp as crystal cut through the demon's spell, and Justin found himself free.

"Silly creature." Kat's voice mocked the demon's efforts. "You know _nothing_ of desire."

She was wreathed in golden glory as she challenged Thalkarsh. Her kimono caressed hr body like a lover's hands. Her fair skin had the luster of a pearl, and her hair framed her face in coils of midnight. She smiled the cool confidant smile of a courtesan as she flipped her fans from her wide sleeves and began a slow, seductive dance. Beside her, Thalkarsh seemed diminished, its woman's form a mockery of true beauty.

"Ah," it breathed as it focused on Katriana, and Justin could feel its lust redouble. It dropped the shivering girl. "At last, a consort worthy of myself!"

Kat tossed her head as she unfastened the clasp of her winter cloak, let it drift to the floor. The sweet subtle perfume of her body grew stronger as she whirled, and flower petals drifted around her. Her eyes never left the demon, but her voice dripped contempt for its amateur tactics. "Go," she told the men. "Find the children. I'll deal with this creature."

No longer dazzled by the demon's spell, Justin spied the little wisp of smoke hovering near a small door behind the altar. He leapt over the black stone altar, and sped after the guide, with An'desha and Karal trailing behind him.

The bare black stone walls were hung with tapestries now, though Justin felt he didn't want to examine any of them too closely, and the floor was laid in a dizzy mosaic. Running over it gave him uncomfortable flashes of memory, of the one time he'd been in Malfeas, with its alien geometry and looser definitions of concepts such as "up" and "down." They tried to trick his eyes; he stumbled and nearly fell twice before he closed his eyes and let his feet run on their own. He heard the mage and the priest stumble behind him, but could not pause to help.

He opened his eyes again when he sensed the walls open up. It was another large room; this one had arcane symbols and hieroglyphs engraved around the perimeter. In the center was a large cage where two small blond figures huddled together. They did not move; Justin could stop to tell whether they were asleep or otherwise, because he was focused on the two figures standing together on the other side of the cage. One was tall and slender and wore a breastplate enameled in red and black. The other was heavier, dressed in ragged funeral garb.

He recognized the heavier one—the former Tamar Denarious, now called the Lord of Weeping Gems. But his companion had greatly altered during his time in Malfeas. This Tsuki wore his armor with assurance. His hair had grown, and he wore it in a single long plait down his back. But the biggest change was his eyes. Formerly blank and milky white, now they were the color of onyx, with burning red pupils. And they were focused clearly on Justin.

Justin noted all of this in a bare instant. He did not slow down; instead he put on a burst of speed, calling on his most powerful charms to end this quickly. He did not—could not—spare a thought for the fact that these two men had once been his friends. That he and his Circle had hoped to find a way to save them both.

Time, with its usual paradox, seemed to slow down. He saw the Weeping Lord's eyes widen as the older man spun aside and drew his sword in one smooth motion—but Justin was already past its swing and his hands glowed, charged with Essence as he aimed a single devastating strike at Tsuki.

It was only an eye blink, yet in that instant there was a flash of sizzling red-laced Essence coupled with the faint scent of cordite. Instead of penetrating deep into the soft flesh beneath the _akuma's_ ribs, Justin's fingers glanced off of his opponent's armor as the_akuma's_ charms came to his defense. Justin's momentum carried him past the pair; he tumbled past Tamar's retaliatory strike and ended up on his feet, facing them.

Two against one. His essence was limited, and he had used perhaps a third of his power trying to take the _akuma_ down quickly. There was now a heavy door barring the entrance to the room. He did not know how long it would take the others to catch up and could not count on their aid. Subtlety would be necessary.

He hovered just outside the reach of the Weeping Lord's sword as the_akuma_ and his lover separated. They moved to flank Justin, too far apart to be attacked simultaneously. Good tactics, Justin noted absently.

"Tamar," he said conversationally. "I see you finally have your wish."

The Weeping Lord frowned at the night caste. "Don't call me that," he commanded.

Justin shrugged. "Would you prefer Martan, then? Or is there yet another name they call you here?"

"Why would you care?" This came from Tsuki, as the pair began to circle slowly around Justin. "You didn't come here to talk of old times." Then the _akuma_ cocked his head curiously. "Or did you? Is it possible you came to join us?"

"No." It was a flat denial. Justin held himself ready for the inevitable attack as the pair circled, focusing his eyes on the Weeping Lord but perfectly aware of both of them. "I was hoping to persuade you to leave this world—but if I have to kill you instead, I will."

"Leave?" Tsuki's voice was amused. "Not when we're together again. Not when this entire world is open to our power. Not when we can give this world, and a hundred others, to my lord Ligier."

"And, of course, you obey Ligier." Justin felt rather than saw the strike coming, and backflipped gracefully, landing behind the Weeping Lord and landing a quick punch in the larger man's kidneys.

"What about you, Tamar?" Justin continued casually. "Do you still struggle against your mistress, the Beautiful Cadaver Draped in Scarves of Ashen Silk? Or have you come to heel like a good lapdog?"

The dart hit home; livid rage colored the Weeping Lord's pale face, and he roared and charged. "I am no one's lapdog!" he howled.

It was sloppy attempt, and Justin avoided it easily. Tsuki scrambled to catch up with his lover; Justin caught the look the _akuma_ directed at the Weeping Lord. Justin hid his satisfaction.

"Of course not," he said reasonably. "You can still struggle, at least. Unlike Tsuki." The Weeping Lord threw a surprised look at Tsuki, and Justin affected astonishment. "What, didn't you know?"

"Know what?" asked the Weeping Lord, as Tsuki said warningly, "Shut up!"

"He's not Ligier's servant," Justin replied. "He's Ligier's slave. He can't take his next breath without his master's permission."

"He lies," said Tsuki calmly. "You know he lies."

But Justin had seen the flicker of doubt in his former friend's face. "I don't lie," he responded. "You thought you were damned? You can choose. You can fight your mistress, though each act of defiance brings agony. He doesn't even have that."

Tsuki's face darkened as essence began to warp and twist around him. "I have my love with me again," he said.

"Only until your master tells you otherwise," said Justin. He tensed, ready to avoid whatever spell Tsuki was preparing, seeing the Weeping Lord's doubt grow. With a shouted word that echoed unpleasantly in Justin's ears, the _akuma_ released his spell. Essence crystallized into a swarm of red hornets with knife-edged wings and six-inch stingers. Justin flung himself aside and rolled again, feeling the edge of the swarm brush against his right arm. When he stood, the magically conjured creatures had vanished, but a thin trickle of blood ran down his arm.

"You should have waited a little longer, Tsuki, and you could have had him in truth. We found a way, Tamar," said Justin, deliberately invoking the Weeping Lord's former name again. "You could have had your place, your position, your lover. You could have had your name back."

"You're lying again," said Tsuki, and Justin thought he heard satisfaction in the _akuma's_ voice. "There is no way back."

"It isn't an easy one." Justin allowed contempt to creep into his voice. "Actually, now I don't think you could do it, either of you. You both took the easy way out."

The Weeping Lord trembled with rage as he raised his sword again. "You don't know anything about it," he snarled. "When I was in that cage—"

"I know all about it!" Justin's voice cracked like a whip as he stepped forward and struck in blur of ghost-gray essence. "_I_ was in that cage! I _know_ what feels like, how it tears at you, body and soul, until you feel you'd do anything, _anything_, if the pain would end for only a moment!" He punctuated each word with a blow of his fists or feet, driving the Weeping Lord back as he tried to parry.

"But I didn't give in, Tamar. I didn't betray myself, my god, or the people who loved me!" A final kick, and he stood over the larger man, ready to deliver the _coup de grace_.

Tears ran over the Weeping Lord's cheeks as he tried to stand. "I—I thought Tsuki was dead," he whined. "I couldn't bear to be_alone_."

Justin's eyes were hard as stone as the heel of his palm smashed into the other man's face, breaking his nose and driving splinters of bone deep into his brain. "There are worse things than being alone," he said softly.

He turned, and caught a bolt of infernal energy in his side. "DAMN YOU, NIGHTBRINGER," howled Tsuki. A second bolt followed, then a third as the _akuma_ released his rage on Justin. "DAMN YOU, AND YOUR ARROGANCE!"

Justin channeled his remaining essence into shielding himself, but the surprise attack had cost him. He staggered as he tried to dodge; livid burns appeared on his body. His anima wrapped him in a cloak of shadows as Tsuki's burned with a brilliant mandala of red and black.

"You think you can judge me? What have you ever done for love? The Nightbringer, the Lawgiver—the Stone Heart!" The _akuma_ slipped a dagger from his sleeve and sneered at the man reeling before him. "You've never loved anyone, and no one's ever loved you—don't think you can preach to me about the easy path!"

He had one trick left, and two choices. Save himself, or kill the_akuma_. No choice at all. He raised his head as the dagger fell.

"You're wrong," he said, and struck.

His fingers punched through armor, muscle, and bone, penetrating Tsuki's heart as the dagger's edge sliced along Justin's throat and was buried deep in his shoulder. He could actually feel his blood leaving his body with each beat of his heart as he and Tsuki crumpled to the ground. He tried to stem the flow; the red river slowed, then stopped, but his vision was blurring.

He heard footsteps, then exclamations. The weight of Tsuki's body was pulled away, and he was dimly grateful. Worried voices buzzed distantly in his ears; he found them vaguely annoying and wished they would go away. He saw Karal's face, and Kat's, peering down at him along with a stranger.

_:Justin_.

He heard the stranger's voice quite clearly. Was Kat crying? That wasn't right, he never wanted to make her cry…but the stranger was speaking more insistently now, with one of those voices he could hear inside his head, impossible to ignore.

:_Justin, will you come with me?_

He focused on the stranger, a lovely woman in a plain white gown. There was something familiar about her, and she looked at him with such sympathy and compassion that somehow Justin managed to find the strength to raise his hand and place it in hers.

Instantly, his pain vanished. The world took on a shimmering turquoise hue, and he saw with wonder that he was standing with his companion below untold fathoms of water, before a set of silver and emerald gates. He breathed, but the water did not choke him, nor did it threaten to crush him. He was felt calm and peaceful. He was not afraid.

"Where are we?" he asked the woman.

She smiled gently, and her voice was melodious and soothing. "The Valdemarans refer to them as the Gates to the Havens—you may have heard them called the Saigoth Gates."

He reached for the gates, grasping one of the cool sliver bars. "The Gates at the end of the world," he murmured. "The ones dreamed of by the gilmayn, that no sailor has ever reached." He turned to the woman. "And who are you?"

"You have to ask, when we are such old friends? I've been courting you a long time, Justin Nightbringer."

And then he knew. "The Valdemarans call you the Shadow-Lover. And you are Death."

"Not only death," she remonstrated gently. "Though I am what comes at the end of life, I give rest, and peace, and reunion. I am Lethe, Justin, and I have brought you here for a purpose."

Still he was not afraid. "What purpose is that?"

She turned away from the Gates and waved her hand. At her gesture, the water shimmered and became a window. Through it, he saw a vast darkness studded with a breathtaking mantle of stars. One star seemed to grow, or perhaps they were moving closer, and he saw to his astonishment that it wasn't a star but a Sun. They zoomed closer yet, until one of the dark motes circling the Sun grew clearer, became a sphere of blue-green agate.

"The world where Valdemar flourishes," said Lethe. Justin had only a moment to marvel at the thought of such a world. He got only a glimpse of trees and earth rushing past as the view continued to shift, past the bedrock that supported the continents, past a layer of molten rock, into the dark dense core of the planet.

"There," said Lethe. "You see?" And he did see, a tiny spot, no larger than the end of his thumb. A place where there was nothing.

"What is it?" he asked.

"The kernel of Oblivion, brought by the _akuma_ and the deathknight," she replied. "But watch!" And as he watched, the minuscule opening, the beginnings of Oblivion, shrank. Until suddenly there was only the rock. "You understand?" murmured the lady. "In this world, the proper cycle of things has never been broken. There is no Underworld here, no Shadow realm. And now, there never will be."

Peace descended on Justin then, peace that stole into every wounded and shadowed corner of his soul and left no room for anything else. "What comes next?" he asked.

An'desha bit his lip as he cradled Justin's head on his lap. So much blood… Miraculously, the bleeding had stopped, but the man's face was pale as wax and his breathing was faint and shallow. Kat knelt next to him, moaning her distress, her anima still sparkling with pale butterflies, as Karal knelt on his other side.

The Lady smiled at Justin again. "You have a choice," she said. "You may step through these gates, to be reborn with a pure soul and a clean slate. The divine shard you carry will find another suitable host, who may or may not remember some of the things that 'Justin' did. Or you may return to your life with all of its trials and troubles and joys."

That all-encompassing peace did not leave Justin, and he was able to ask, "What about Tsuki, and Tamar? Is there any redemption in death for them?"

The Lady shook her head, and the melody of her voice was a dirge. "A partial redemption, for the _akuma_. He will be reborn, and his soul-shard escape the demon who changed it, to reincarnate into another host. But that shard will carry the seed of damnation, and its bearer will always feel the urge to seek out the demon Ligier. Further deaths and reincarnations will serve to further cleanse the demon's taint, until the shard is pure once again. But the Weeping Lord's corrupted shard will return to the Monstrance of Celestial Portion until the Beautiful Cadaver finds another host for it. For him, the only path is the hard one of true repentance and penance."

An'desha laid his fingers lightly on the pulse in Justin's wrist, and knew immediately that they were losing him. "I'm no Healer," he whispered, and Kat sobbed as tears ran down her cheeks and broke like crystal on the floor.

"No," she choked. "No! Justin, please, you have to live, you have to come back to me, please…" She was speaking Riverspeak, but her meaning was plain to the mage. Never had he felt so helpless, watching this woman weep over the slowly dying body of her lover. He looked at Karal, who shook his head slowly.

Justin laid his hands on the Gates again. How often had he wished to forget? And yet…he thought of his wife, and his daughter…he thought of his Circle, his friends…he thought of all the things he had left to do and all the worlds that were left to see, and he let go of the Gates with no reluctance at all.

"I can't go yet," he said. "There's too much left to do."

The Lady smiled at him, a brilliant smile undimmed by sadness or regret. "Then, kiss me, Justin Nightbringer, and be on your way."

He bent and kissed her cool lips. "Until we meet again," he murmured, then stepped back. Be on your way, she had said, but where from here? Then as he looked out through the endless water, he Heard Kat's weeping, and he knew.

He was alive. He knew it because it hurt. He blinked bleary eyes and tried to throw off the restraining hands.

"Don't move," said Kat quietly. "Let the Healer work. She—you—I thought you were dead. Oh, gods, Justin, I thought I'd lost you."

He squeezed her hand weakly. "Can't go yet," he whispered. "Too much to do."

The Healer's essence was cool and green, and Justin stopped struggling as it wound through his body, closing his wounds seamlessly and infusing strength into his weakened body. He was quite content after that to allow them to put him on a litter and carry him out of the dark castle, which already seemed to be crumbling. There were many more people than there were before, and most of them wore a symbol of two crossed lightning bolts.

"Kerowyn's Skybolts," Kat explained. "They arrived a bit late, but they brought their Healer with them. You were _gone_ Justin, and the Healer swears she had divine assistance. "

"Maybe," was all he could say. "I'll tell you all about it, later."

He turned his head, and saw Kerowyn standing with two golden haired children clinging to her legs. They looked at Justin with wide blue eyes.

"We saw you fight them," said the little girl.

"You almost died," her brother whispered. The two disentangled themselves from Kerowyn and approached Justin gingerly.

"Thank you," they said, and bent down together to plant a kiss on each cheek.

**Homecoming**

They rode back to Haven rather than Gating, though after the second day Justin refused horse or litter in favor of his own two feet. But though he could have easily outdistanced the rest, he found that his usual impatience had diminished, and began to enjoy the leisurely journey. The Skybolts reminded him of the mercenaries that had taken him for a time after his mother's death—disciplined, organized, and damned good at their jobs. He found himself listening with interest to Karal and An'desha as they told him about Karsites, Shin'a'in, and Hawkbrothers. The twins had apparently developed a profound case of hero-worship for their rescuers, and took to trailing behind Justin or Kat at every opportunity, a situation that had Kerowyn laughing herself to tears.

"I'm sorry," she spluttered, when she caught Justin's disgusted glance, "but it's like ducklings!"

"Just think of it as practice," Kat murmured. "Ours will be that age, too, someday. Besides, it's good for them. They were not too damaged, I think, but still—this will help them heal."

Still, when the walls of Haven were in sight, he found himself restless. He wanted to hold his daughter. He wanted to see his Circle. He wanted most of all, to be _home_. He let Kat pose for the gathered crowd while he slipped away, unseen, and made his way into the Palace.

Jessamin looked up at him alertly as she lay in her cradle; the wet-nurse dozed nearby. Justin scooped up his daughter and nuzzled her. She gurgled and grabbed his hair with her tiny fists. As he gently freed himself from her grasp, he heard the mental equivalent of throat-clearing and turned to see Altra sitting on the hearth rug.

_:I wanted to thank you, on behalf of Vkandis Sunlord,_ said the firecat. _:And to apologize. Not that I had anything personally to do with it, but I'm an agent of the One who did._

"I gathered that," Justin said dryly. "What I really want to know is—can you—_will_ you—send us back again?"

_:Oh, absolutely!_ Justin thought the cat sounded relieved and eager._ :There were a few details that needed to be worked out first, is all. We needed your help to correct the imbalance caused when the_akuma_ made his way here, but now that he's gone, your very presence here makes more of an imbalance not only here, but in your own world as well. And, to be frank…the Exalted are a frightening concept. The idea that such power resides in you—worse, that there is a _need_ for such power in a mortal vessel—well, it makes the Powers think very carefully._

"I think the traditional methods of your Powers have worked very well for this world so far," Justin said firmly.

It looked as if Altra would reply; then his ears pricked and he rose from his position on the rug. _:Your wife is approaching,_ he said. _:It's time._

Katriana danced lightly into the room. Her whole body was alight with laughter. "Would that we could always get such a welcome," she said breathlessly as she glided to her husband and daughter. "I like being treated as a hero."

Before Justin could reply, there was a now-familiar crackle of essence around the doorway. The view of the hall outside was obscured by shifting mist, which then cleared to reveal the figure of Shiarra, crouched over a series of symbols carved into the turf. Justin recognized the woven-vine walls of the Forest Refuge. She looked up, and the surprise and shock on her face was replaced by sheer joy.

"Justin!" she shrieked.

Justin grabbed Kat's hand and leaped for the Gate. There was once again that disorienting sensation of a long fall through blackness. Essence wrapped around him, cradling gently before hurling him forward. Into light. Into the arms that waited for him, wrapping him tightly in an embrace which revealed far more about Shiarra's worry than her words ever could.

Shiarra let him go, and turned to embrace Kat, but before Justin could regain his breath Silver Feathers was there, wrapping him in a bone-crushing hug. Still cradled next to Justin's chest, Jessamin let out a squall at being so ill-treated. Silver Feathers instantly released Justin, and a broad smile crossed his face when he looked down at the indignant baby.

"Not afraid to let the world know what you think, eh?" the big Lunar said.

"Oh, Justin!" Shiara exclaimed. "What's his name? And where in Creation have you been? And how did you get back?""

"_Her_ name is Jessamin," Justin told her. "As for where…it's a long story Shiarra. If you'll have Verging Thicket get us some food and some wine, I'll try to do it justice."

So they settled on the grassy floor of the manse, or in the subtly shaped rocks and trees which furnished the Forest Refuge. Shiarra's children trooped in, squealing over their "uncle Justin's" return, and cooing over Jessamin before clustering around their mother. Verging Thicket materialized with what seemed like a small army of wood elementals bearing food and drink. Justin accepted a glass of light wine, savoring the subtle spice as he settled into his favorite seat with his arm around Kat.

"Now," said Shiarra. She practically vibrated with eagerness. "Tell us everything."

Justin looked around, at his home, his Circle, and his family. A deep contentment seeped slowly through his soul.

"It was another Creation, a lot like this one in some ways," he said. "And completely different in others. They were never supposed to touch, but an _akuma_ and a deathknight found their way there. There are no Exalted there, so the gods of that world turned to the source of the problem for the solution."

"When we went through the gate, we landed in a forest near a farmstead…"


End file.
